Titi
by Zealous Iconoclast
Summary: She was a chieu hoi and a loyal Viet Cong guerilla. She survived Operation Lazarus and died in the shallows of the Mekong on April 8, 1970. Would she have shot Maggie Dawson? No bet. But how much do we really know about the woman who killed Tom Beckett?
1. She Is Born

A quick note on purpose and intent:

It never hurts to look at a story from a fresh perspective. Here is another take on the Vietnam War--Sam's war, Al's war, Titi's war.

I probably will not update this one as frequently as I do my others. For several reasons, it is much more difficult to write.

A quick note on form and function:

"Dialogue written like this" indicates spoken Vietnamese, translated to English in the same way the narration is. Emphatic vocal inflection is placed on the word written like "this".

"_Dialogue written like this_" indicates spoken English as heard (or spoken) by the Vietnamese protagonist. Emphatic vocal inflection is placed on the word written like "_this_".

Any other tongues used (French; oh, say, _Italian_…) are written in the actual language.

That being said…

**TITI – July 18, 1950**

Ap Bac was not a beautiful village. It was not a prosperous village. It was not an important village. It was, however, Tuyen's home, and it was here that she wanted to die.

She had known when the pains woke her before the dawn that she was going to die. Giang had only laughed fondly when she said this. "All women think they are going to die," she had said. "When Bian was born I was certain I would."

Giang did not know. She had not seen the blood these last weeks, blood where there should be none while her belly was distended with the small human inside of it. Giang did not know of the pains deep inside, long before the first birth-spasms shook her. Tuyen was going to die, whether her friend believed her or not.

Giang didn't take Tuyen's words seriously, but still she helped her. A woman had a right to give birth where she wished, especially a woman without a husband. So Giang helped her friend dress, found her sandals, and went with her, staying at her side all the long walk through the jungle from Ap Tan Thoi to Ap Bac.

It was not really a great distance: two miles at most. It was a long walk because with each contraction Tuyen fell to her knees, shaking and moaning. Women were meant to be strong, but the pain was so great. Here among the trees there was no one to see her weakness anyhow. No one but Giang, who would not hold it against her, and little Bian, who tottered behind the women and did not understand what was happening.

As she made her last pilgrimage Tuyen thought about the child she was carrying. Through the pregnancy she had hoped she bore a boy. It was said that the woman who bore a boy to the man who had fathered Tuyen's child would be honored above all others. Perhaps, for the one who bore a boy there would even be marriage. Now, now when it was plain to her that she would not live to see another dawn she prayed that it was a girl. A girl Giang could raise with Bian. A girl, who would be a burden to no one and unnoticed, as her half-sisters were, by her great father. Better for the mother to be exalted by the stern warrior, but better for the child to be invisible.

When at last they reached Ap Bac Giang brought Tuyen to the house of the wise old woman who served as midwife, physician, apothecary and archivist for the village. The elderly lady scolded Tuyen for her foolishness at first, until Giang had explained the girl thought she was dying. Then the midwife muttered a charm against evil spirits and hung an amulet around Tuyen's neck.

Hours dragged by. The hut was insufferably hot and the agony in her contracting abdomen threatened to drive Tuyen mad. Bian stripped off her little breechclout and sat down, naked, to play with the midwife's cooking pot. Giang wanted to do the same, but she contented herself with removing her tunic and crouching by her friend and sister in affliction with her skirt trailing in the dust of the floor.

At last the midwife drew forth the child, an undersized, wrinkled red baby with thick dark hair. She slapped the infant's backside and a thin, indignant cry tore the air. Bian looked up from her game, her three-year-old eyes enormous at the spectacle.

The wailing woke Tuyen from her delirious swoon, and she cried out for her baby, her voice thin and fretful. The midwife laid the child at its mother's breast, then went about the work of cutting the cord.

Tuyen looked down at the tiny mouth suckling at her nipple, and then at the wrinkled body. A daughter. She lifted up a silent prayer of thanks. A daughter.

"Little," she whispered. "Little."

"Yes," Giang agreed gently. "She is a very little baby."

"Little, little," Tuyen murmured. There was no longer any pain. She let her eyes drift closed.

"A name!" the midwife said as she worked. The blood was flowing freely. The girl had foreseen her own death. "What name does she want for the child?"

"Tuyen!" Giang said sternly. "Tuyen, wake up!"

Glassy, vacant eyes opened hesitantly. "Little, little, little," Tuyen breathed.

"What do you want to name her?" Giang asked.

"Little…" Tuyen murmured. Then the eyes closed again and her weary heart halted forever.

"Little, little," Giang whispered, stroking the cheek of the still-feeding baby. "Titi," she said. "Titi. Her name is Titi."


	2. The Great Captain

**October 4, 1955 **

Titi had to trot to keep pace with Bian's long strides as the bigger girl climbed the hill towards the berry bushes. Her sister was tall and strong, with long limbs and reflexes like a tiger. Titi was only five, hampered still by baby fat and a lingering clumsiness.

"Bian, wait!" she panted. "You are too fast for me!"

Bian slowed a little, one hand flying up to rebalance the woven-reed basket she bore on her head as she tripped against a stone. Titi finally closed the gap between them. She slipped her hand into Bian's. The bigger girl squeezed her fingers protectively. Titi was always safe with Bian. Nothing could harm her while Bian was there.

"Bian, tell me a story," she begged, childish love of fantastic terrors emboldening her. "Tell me about the Americans."

"The Americans live far across the sea," Bian said, helping Titi scramble over a fallen tree. "Like the French, they have white faces and hair the color of new fire. They are giants, and they have strange rocks that fall from the sky and make people disappear. They hate us. They hate us even more than the French hate us. They want to kill us. Some day, they will come across the sea and try to kill us all, just like they did in Korea."

Titi shivered in horrified delight. "How do you know?" she asked breathlessly.

"I heard the men talking," Bian said, as she always did. "The men say that we need an army to fight the Americans when they come. A secret army throughout the land, better than the one with which we fight the French. The men in Hanoi work to gather an army."

"Tell me about Hanoi," Titi said dreamily.

"Hanoi is a city," Bian said, with authority.

"What is a city?" asked Titi, her worshipful eyes on her older sister. Bian was eight years old, and she knew everything. She knew more, even, than the grown women, and more importantly she would share her knowledge.

"A city is a big village," Bian said. "Many people live there. The houses are big, with many rooms."

"How many rooms? Two?" asked Titi. The largest house in Ap Tan Thoi was the concrete militia bunker, and _it_ had two rooms.

"More than two," Bian said sagely. She had never been to Hanoi, nor even more than ten miles from the village, but her three years' seniority and quick ears gave her an inexorable authority over this particular audience. "Some have five, or even ten."

Titi, who had just started to grasp the concept of numbers, stared at her outstretched palms in wonder. Five fingers on one hand, ten on both. The idea of such a large house confounded her.

Bian, encouraged by the younger girl's expression, went on. "Some houses are even built with one room set on top of another, reaching up towards the sky, and—"

Both girls froze as a sound echoed through the serenity of the jungle. It was a loud, rumbling noise like distant thunder, a grumble that reverberated among the trees. A motor.

Berry-picking forgotten, the girls ran down the hill and back towards the village. Motors were rarely heard so far from the busier trails that led to and from Saigon, but they always meant that something exciting was about to happen.

The other villagers, those who were not working on the rice paddies or hunting pig in the jungle, were gathering too, and by the time Bian and Titi reached the first thatched huts a large crowd was gathered. They stood back at a respectful distance from the large green jeep. Titi bounced on the balls of her feet, trying to see between the elbows of the adults. Bian set down her empty basket and grabbed her little sister's wrist.

"Come with me," she whispered.

Following Bian's lead, Titi wove between the bigger bodies, and finally they were slipping to the front of the crowd. Bian crouched down in front of one of the old men, who was neither likely to notice her nor to kick her if he did. Titi tried to mimic her sister's posture, but her chubbier legs could not sustain it, so she sat on her bottom with her feet sticking out in front of her.

Around the vehicle, half a dozen tall, strong men in crisp uniforms were conferring together. Titi's eyes grew wide. Soldiers.

One man wearing a cap with a bright red star upon it was scanning the crowd. He pointed and beckoned.

"Giang!" he said.

Titi twisted to look over her shoulder. _Giang_ was Me Dè's name. Sure enough, the other adults parted so that Me Dè could pass. She stepped forward, small and beautiful in her soft brown _ao dai_. Titi felt a flush of pride that was mirrored fiercely in Bian's eyes. No woman in the village was as handsome as their mother. The soldier held her hand in his, speaking quietly and gesturing. He pointed to the truck, and Titi looked. A squeal of delight slipped from her lips.

"Bian, look!" she said. "Ladies!"

And so there were: perched on the rear bumper of the jeep were two women, their sandaled feet dangling above the ground. Their hands were folded in their laps, and their heads were bowed so that their conical _non las _obscured their faces.

"Thttt!" Bian hissed, frowning in disapproval. Titi put one hand over her mouth so that no other injudicious sounds should escape.

Me Dè was nodding respectfully now, and the soldier released her hand. She walked towards the two strange women and spoke quietly to them. Then they hopped off of the bumper and bowed. Me Dè bowed in return. Her eyes found the two little girls at the head of the throng of spectators.

"Bian! Titi! Come!" she said, holding out her hand. Titi ran up obediently and put her hand in Me Dè's. Bian was slower to obey. "Bian! Come!" Me Dè repeated sternly. Bian followed reluctantly, looking back over her shoulder at the soldiers.

Me Dè led the way back to the hut she kept for the children. Titi trotted to keep up. The visiting women followed, and Bian brought up the rear. Inside the little house, Me Dè poured her good green tea from the bowl that she kept on the charcoal fire, giving a dish to each of her guests. As they sat, they removed their hats, and Titi saw that they were not women: they were girls. One was perhaps two years older than Bian—perhaps more, for Bian was very tall. The other was almost grown.

Me Dè motioned to her daughters that they, too, should sit. "Thanh, Cam Lan," she said; "This is my daughter Bian, and this is Titi. My girls, Thanh and Cam Lan have come to us from the north. They will live here with us for many months, and Thanh will teach a school for all the children in the village."

"Why?" Titi asked.

"Because the great captain wishes it," Me Dè explained.

"Who is the great captain?" Bian queried, her voice strong and proud.

The elder girl, Thanh, answered. "Captain Quon is a mighty warrior," she proclaimed. "He comes from the North to persuade the people of the South to change their ways and rebel against the wicked French."

Titi did not understand. North of the village there was trackless jungle. South of the village was Ap Bac. To the east were the berry-covered hills and the rice paddies. Far, far to the west was the road that led to Saigon. Her world extended no farther.

Bian was wiser. "Will we change our ways and rebel?" she asked.

"No," Me Dè said. "We already understand that Captain Quon's ways are right. We do not need to change."

"But we shall rebel!" Thanh vowed.

"What are Captan Quon's ways?" Bian asked keenly.

"He wants the rich people to give all of their riches to the poor people," Cam Lan said softly.

Titi clapped her hands with delight. _They_ were the poor people! "Then the poor people will be rich and the rich people will be poor!" she laughed.

"No," Thanh said firmly. "Then no one will be rich, or poor. We will all be the same."

"The same?" Titi frowned to herself. How could all people be the same?

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM 

The two girls helped Me Dè and her children prepare the evening meal, but when it was ready Me Dè would not let the household eat. Instead, she bade them sit quietly, and left the house. She returned after a couple of minutes, and smoothed Titi's hair to tidy it, then sat near the door.

Presently, there were footsteps and the soldier with the cap came into the hut. Me Dè and the visiting girls stood and bowed. Bian hastened to do the same. Titi sat and stared, awed by his beautiful uniform and authoritative presence.

His black eyes settled upon her, and a strange glow flickered through them. "And who are you?" he asked.

"Titi," she said, her eyes enormous.

"Titi." The soldier turned to Me Dè. "She looks like Tuyen," he said.

"Yes," said Me Dè. "She does."

The soldier sat down in the place of honor, and Me Dè filled a bowl for him. Tonight there was rice and greens, as always, and also a piece of pork that had been cut into small pieces, and filled the hut with its sweet smell. The soldier took the food and picked up a piece of the succulent meat between finger and thumb. He extended his arm.

"Here, Titi," he said. "Take this and tell me how it tastes."

Titi looked shyly at Me Dè. She was not usually allowed to eat before her elders had tasted their food. Me Dè looked anxious, perhaps worried about this breech of etiquette, but she nodded. Then Titi knew that she was allowed to break with custom tonight.

She cautiously plucked the meat from the soldier's fingers and tasted it. He watched her somberly.

"Well, Titi?" he asked. "How does it taste?"

"Wonderful!" Titi exclaimed.

The man smiled. "Good," he said. "Sit by me and share my bowl, Titi."

For a moment Titi wanted to protest that she was five years old now, and had her own bowl like a big girl, but then she realized that it would be nice to sit by the big, powerful man and share his dish. She seated herself on the woven rush mat next to him. Me Dè smiled, and Titi knew that she had done well.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM 

The soldier dined with them and after the meal while Me Dè and the bigger girls cleaned the dishes he took Titi outside. He bade her sit with him on the bench near the hut. She obeyed as Me Dè wished her, and sat watching as the soldier did a very strange thing.

From the pocket of his shirt he took a paper packet and drew out a little white stick. He placed it between his lips. Then he took out a box of the-sticks-that-make-fire-much-faster-than-flint, and ignited one by striking it against his boot-sole. He touched the flame to the end of the stick. Titi gasped, afraid that it would blaze with fire and burn his mouth. But the end of the sick merely glowed briefly like dying embers, and then turned grey.

Then the soldier took the stick from his lips and exhaled a cloud of silver smoke. Titi shivered in delight. The village men could do that, when they puffed on their pipes. It always reminded her of the monsters in Bian's stories. The monsters breathed smoke, and they flew through the air with shrill screams of victory and spit flames that burned the trees. Wherever they passed, the jungle was transformed into a great bonfire that burned forever. The act of breathing smoke was still more exotic when performed by a man who did not even have a pipe.

The darkness came and the girls lay down to sleep. Bian shared Titi's mat and blanket, for the guests had hers. Me Dè went outside then, to sit with the soldier.

Bian was asleep and Titi nearly so when Mè De returned, the soldier following her.

"Duong-_san_," Me Dè murmured.

"Giang," said the soldier. "The captain has come home."

Titi watched in the gloom as the soldier began to take off Me Dè's _ao dai_. Me Dè's skin was white in the moonlight that filtered through the window screens. The man unbound her breast-band, and she was naked, but she did not try to cover herself. Instead, Me Dè slowly undressed the soldier until his brown body, too, was bare. Then they kissed, a long kiss that brought them to their knees on Me Dè's sleeping mat.

They continued to kiss, making soft, strange sounds. Then they began to move in a peculiar way. Titi was frightened that the Great Captain was hurting her mother, but Me Dè's gasps were not gasps of pain. At last the motion stopped and the adults seemed to sleep. Titi curled close against Bian and she, too, finally drifted into slumber.


	3. A Snake!

**May 27, 1960**

"What is war?" Titi asked, pulling a smock out of the creek and onto the rock, where Cam Lan beat it with a wooden paddle.

Thanh looked down from where she stood on the crest of the creek bed, laying out the clean clothes on the bushes where they could dry in the hot summer sun. "It is when two groups of people fight with each other," she said.

Thanh was very learned. For almost three years, she had been teaching the children of the village how to write and read and cipher. Now she was almost of an age to marry, and for months Cam Lan had been assuming more and more of her duties. Cam Lan read better than Thanh, but she was less aware of politics.

At ten, Titi asked no fewer questions than she had at five. The world was large and strange, and the only way to make sense of it was to learn from others. "Why do they fight?" she queried.

"Because they hate each other," Bian said. She was in the shallows, her tunic girded up into her sash as she trampled the soiled clothing, driving out the grime and the sweat. "We hate the people of the southern cities because they are capitalist monsters and evil oppressors."

Bian was Thanh's most faithful pupil, but Titi loved Cam Lan best of the two. Cam Lan was gentle, kind and sweet, where Thanh was brave and clever, but somehow less approachable. This did not seem to bother Bian, who worshipped Thanh and delighted in gaining her approval. When the older girl nodded, Bian beamed proudly.

"In the countryside the people are faithful," she continued. "We are not the slaves of the French. We are loyal to the teachings of Ho Chi Minh."

Titi was proud. Ho Chi Minh was a visionary, a great man. He would bring peace and prosperity to all of Vietnam. Ap Tan Thoi and nearby Ap Bac were villages that followed his teachings. They would be protected when the armies of the north came to fight the evil southern capitalists and the wicked French. Yet if people fought a war because they hated each other…

"Why do the people of the south hate us?" Titi asked.

"They are afraid of us," Thanh answered promptly. "We are fearsome and our secret army is mighty. Also, the great nation of China has promised to aid us. We cannot be defeated."

Even Bian seemed impressed by this. China was a large country, much, much bigger than Vietnam. It was ruled by a man called Chairman Mao. It was a very powerful country. If China would help then Thanh was right: the north could not be defeated.

Yet it did not seem fair. Titi frowned. "Who will help the people of the south?" she asked.

A cloud settled upon Thanh's handsome face. Cam Lan seemed frightened. Bian stamped her foot angrily, so that the water splashed.

"They do not deserve help! They are evil!" she cried.

"But who will help them?" Titi repeated.

No one answered her.

Suddenly, Cam Lan screamed, scrambling backwards away from the water. "Titi! Bian! Do not move!" she cried. "A snake!"

Titi looked where the older girl pointed, and her blood ran cold. There was a ripple on the water, the black ribbon of a deadly snake. As it sped towards her, Titi could not move. The snake would bite her and she would die…

Suddenly there was a rush of movement, and Bian raised her hand high above her head. Between finger and thumb she held the serpent behind its head, so it could not bite her. The long, slender body moved like a whip, swinging from Bian's hand. Cam Lan clapped her hand to her mouth, staring in wide-eyed amazement.

Bian looked up at her prize, and a cold smile visited her lips. Titi stared in wonder.

"You saved me," she said softly.

Bian did not answer at once. Her black eyes glistened just as the black scales of the snake did, wet as they were in the brilliant sunlight. She waded to the shore and set the snake gently upon a broad, flat stone. Bewildered or afraid or held under some spell, the serpent did not move.

"You are letting it go?" Thanh asked, a note of awe in her voice. One who was fearless enough to release such a snake was worthy of honor.

Still, Bian did not answer. With a swift motion she caught up a rock and brought it down upon the black killer's head. The skull cracked and dark blood stained the rock. Titi stared at the mangled snake, at once sickened and fascinated. When at last she looked away, she met Bian's deep black eyes.

"Those who would harm my sister must die a thousand deaths," Bian proclaimed grimly. "While I live I shall protect you." She drew Titi into her arms and held her tightly. Titi returned the embrace.

"I will protect you," Bian said again. It was the bold promise of a girl but newly come to womanhood, full of youth's bravado and hubris, but to Titi it was an assurance of a long and secure life. She hugged her sister more tightly.

"I love you, Bian," she whispered fiercely.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM 

When the clothing was dry and sweet-smelling, the girls bundled it into the large wicker basket. Bian and Thanh carried it between them. Cam Lan bore the paddle over her shoulder, hugging Titi with her free arm as if to assure herself that the younger girl were truly unharmed. They walked towards the village, happy and carefree despite the encounter at the river. They were young and innocent together—for the last time.

For on the path near the hut was a truck. By it, Me Dè was speaking to her soldier, the bold Captain Quon whom Titi had not seen since the summer three years past, when he had brought Cam Lan and Thanh to live with them.

As the girls approached, Me Dè walked towards them. "Cam Lan, Bian, Titi," she said, "take the clothes into the house. Thanh, Captain Quon has come to speak to you."

Thanh gave her handle of the basket to Cam Lan, and stood proudly. She was not tall—already Bian could look her in the eyes—but she carried herself like the daughter of a warrior. She bowed to Captain Quon, and he bowed to her. Then they began to speak together, but Titi could not hear what was said, for Cam Lan and Bian entered the hut, and she followed.

"Why has Captain Quon come back?" Bian asked Cam Lan, frowning back over her shoulder.

The elder girl shook her head. "I do not know," she said.

Titi looked at Cam Lan's gentle brown eyes and saw fear in them. She moved to take the older girl's hand.

"Why are you frightened?" she asked gently. It did not make sense. Bian had killed the snake. There was no danger.

For a moment, Cam Lan tried to be strong enough to bear her anxieties alone, but despite the strength of her fifteen years, she could not. "I do not want to be taken away," she admitted, her voice small and frightened. "I do not want to be a jungle warrior in the secret army, and I am afraid that that is why the Captain has come back."

These words frightened Titi, too. She threw her arms around Cam Lan's waist. "I do not want you to go!" she cried. "I want you to stay always and be our teacher when Thanh marries!"

"It is honourable to fight and defend our people," Bian said, her voice hardened in chastisement undampened by the respect she owed to an elder.

"Perhaps," Cam Lan whispered, bending to hug Titi tightly. "But I do not want to fight. I do not want to kill."

"They are our enemies! They deserve to die!" Bian cried. Titi saw the hatred in her sister's eyes, and it frightened her. She had never seen such a look on Bian's face, except this morning at the river, when she had looked up at the snake. Titi drew nearer to Cam Lan, holding tightly to her hand.

"Perhaps," Cam Lan conceded. "Still, I do not want to be the one who kills them."

Bian thrust out her chest. "I do!" she said proudly. "I want to kill them. They are evil. They are our enemies. I will be proud to kill them."

"You are braver than I," murmured Cam Lan.

"Titi will fight!" Bian went on. "Titi will fight also! You will fight, Titi?"

"Y-yes," Titi said. "Yes, I will fight."

But it was not true. She did not wish to fight, either. She was afraid, like Cam Lan. Did that mean that she was wicked and cowardly? She wanted to be brave, like Bian, but inside she was frightened.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM 

Presently, Me Dè came into the hut and brought the girls outside. Thanh sat in the front seat of the jeep, hands folded neatly in her lap and head erect.

Captain Quon stood next to his vehicle. His eyes travelled over the girls, settling upon the youngest. "Titi," he said gravely. "Do you remember me?"

Titi nodded. She remembered well the night when he had come, bringing Cam Lan and Thanh to live with them. She remembered sharing his dish: pig meat and sweet greens and good white rice. She remembered how he had undressed Me Dè and with her made strange sounds.

The soldier smiled and held out his hands. "Come," he said.

Titi stepped towards him, frightened. Did he mean that he was taking her away to be a jungle warrior?

The man took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up. He looked deeply into her eyes. "Yes, Giang," he said softly. "Yes, she looks much like Tuyen."

Titi wondered who Tuyen was, but it was not her place to ask questions of so noble a warrior. The captain smoothed her hair and slid his hand down to caress the base of her neck. "Titi," he said. "Titi, has Thanh been a good teacher?"

"Yes," Titi said. "Yes, she has been a very good teacher."

"Good," Captain Quon said gravely. "I am taking her away now."

"To fight?" Titi asked.

He nodded. "Yes," he said. "To fight."

The dark eyes were grave, but the hand upon her neck was so gentle that Titi was emboldened. "Why?" she asked.

Captain Quon smiled a strange smile. It was like the expression Bian made whenever she was thinking her secret thoughts.

"Because, Titi," he said, "in times of war, even women must fight."

Then he bent swiftly and planted a cool kiss between her eyes. With one brief glance at Bian and Cam Lan, he swung himself up behind the wheel of the jeep. The motor roared to life with a sound like thunder, and in a cloud of dust the vehicle sped away, out of the village.

Me Dè stood silently, staring after the captain and Thanh. At last she turned, looking for a moment at Titi, then went silently into the house. Cam Lan, her eyes filled with strange pain, followed. Only Titi and Bian were left in the afternoon sun.

Titi moved to slip her hand into Bian's. Her sister was staring as Me Dè had, in the direction the jeep had gone. Yet her face was not impassive as her mother's had been. She wore the smile, the secret smile that had been mirrored for a moment on the soldier's face.

"What is it?" Titi whispered.

Bian squared her shoulders boldly and stood at her full height. She was very tall and very beautiful. She spoke slowly and clearly, relishing the words that her strong voice carried through the village.

"In times of war," she said; "even women must fight."


	4. Many Questions

November 7, 1962 

Major Quon liked Titi to dine with him. Each evening when the shadows grew long, Titi would wash her face and hands and underarms, and put on her pretty blue _ao dai_. She would slip her little brown feet into her banana-leaf sandals, the ones brightly colored with rich dyes. Then she would walk through the village to the militia bunker. The young lieutenants in their loose black uniforms would bow to her, and she to them. Once inside, she would wait in the large main room until Major Quon was ready.

The smaller room served as his home, and had since high summer when the soldiers had come to the village. Major Quon had furnished it with a wooden table and chairs, a radio set, a footlocker and a strange sleeping mat. It was a shallow box raised on four legs, and in the box was a cloth bag stuffed stiff with padding. A smaller bag full of feathers took the place of a head-board and the blankets were always laid out, even in the daytime. Bian called this contraption a _bed_.

Titi had never seen Major Quon use the _bed_. When she came to him he was always at the table. He would sit at one end and Titi at the other. They would eat the evening meal—rice and pork and such fruits or vegetables as were in season. Major Quon would speak about his soldiers, or his philosophy, or the bright future that awaited all of Vietnam, and sometimes he would question Titi about her activities that day. Then when the meal was finished he would light on of his _cigarettes_, the strange sticks that gave him the power to breathe smoke from mouth and nose, and Titi would sit and keep him company in respectful silence. When he was ready to be left alone he would indicate that she should come towards him, and he would draw her onto his knee. She would sit there for a minute or two while he stroked her hair and ran his hands over her kneecaps. Then he would kiss her once, gently, next to her mouth, and bid her goodnight. Titi was then free to depart. Usually she would pass the remainder of the evening in Cam Lan's pleasant company.

Titi was twelve now, but she was still a child. The monthly courses that Me Dè and Cam Lan and Bian and all other women underwent until they grew old had not yet come to Titi. She was, nonetheless, a person of some importance, certainly for a young girl. She helped Cam Lan each day with the task of teaching the children to read, write and cipher. The old people relied upon her often when they had tasks requiring a young body and a discreet tongue. The soldiers, both those in the village under Major Quon, and those in the jungle camps who answered to the colonel, treated her respectfully, as they treated Me Dè.

Bian the soldiers did not treat with respect. They behaved as if she were one of them, no different from the skinny boys learning the warrior's ways. It was true that Bian was as swift, as strong and as fearless as these youth. She was tall and broad-shouldered, with long muscular legs and strong yet feminine hips. She could climb a tree like a monkey and she could fix a truck engine without aid. She wore her hair very long, longer than Titi's or even Cam Lan's, but kept it always in a tight plait wound close around her head. When she let down this black rope she could sit upon its end, back erect and shoulders squared. She was bold, powerful, fearless and beautiful, and Titi worshiped her as much as she ever had.

Bian was learning to use the radio tower. North of the village, in the camp of the soldiers, there was a radio receiver. It supported the Viet Cong communications for the area. More importantly, it could often detect American signals. Bian was learning to speak their language almost as quickly as she was gaining understanding of the equipment.

Today as Titi left the hut where she still lived with Me Dè and the two young women, she saw her sister coming from the direction of the encampments. She wore the loose black tunic and trousers of the Viet Cong, and she carried a long knife strapped to her hip. There was a smudge of grease on one proud cheekbone, but it did nothing to tarnish her stern beauty. When she spied Titi she smiled. The expression warmed the younger girl's heart. It was not often that smiles came to Bian now, for her mind was occupied with many grave matters, but she could always find one for Titi.

"You are pretty today," she said as she drew near.

Titi blushed with pleasure and smoothed the front of her skirt.

"The color suits you well," Bian added thoughtfully.

Me Dè had made the garment from cloth brought all the way from Hanoi by Major Quon. He had brought gifts for the others, too: a new cooking-pot for Me Dè, the knife Bian wore at her side, and for Cam Lan six slates and chalk pencils for the school. Major Quon was fond of Me Dè and her girls.

"How are the men?" Titi asked.

"Preparing," Bian said. "It is whispered that the Americans may come to do battle."

"No!" Titi said. She was afraid. The Americans had come from far across the sea to fight with the South Vietnamese army against those loyal to Ho Chi Minh. They had not yet made any move, but everyone knew the terror they had brought upon Korea, ten years ago when Titi was a tiny child.

"Why do you say that?" Bian asked. "It will be a glorious day when they come, for we shall destroy them!"

Titi was not so certain. Major Quon had often spoken about the Americans' fearsome machines. He spoke of aeroplanes so small and swift that they could not be stopped, and great trucks with blades upon their roofs, blades that cut the air and caused windstorms beneath them as they flew through the air. The Americans had guns far more numerous and more powerful than the noble Viet Cong did, and cannons and bombs. She was afraid that the Americans would come, like the northern barbarians of the old tales, and burn the village, kill all of the men, steal the children away as slaves, and rape the women. Titi did not know what _rape_ meant, but it was a word that the women of the village spoke with whispers in their voices and fear in their eyes. She did not want that to happen to Me Dè, and she did not want herself, and Cam Lan, and Bian and all the small children to be carried away as slaves.

Bian took hold of Titi's chin and tilted her head upwards. "You are afraid," she said. "Do not be afraid! I shall protect you!"

"I know," Titi said. "I will not be afraid if you will protect me." A thought occurred to her. "Will you protect Me Dè also?" she asked.

"Yes," Bian said haughtily. "Yes, I will protect Me Dè."

"And Cam Lan?" Titi asked.

Bian's expression darkened. She did not like Cam Lan, because she was afraid to fight and would have nothing to do with the soldiers. "If she cannot protect herself she shall have no aid from me," she declared.

Titi did not know what to say. The only matter on which she and Bian disagreed was Cam Lan. Titi could not see anything wrong with being frightened: she was frightened herself. It was only that Cam Lan had courage enough to admit that she was scared and to say that she did not want to fight, and Titi, being cowardly, did not. Yet since the day when Thanh had gone away to learn to be a warrior there had been no love between Cam Lan and Bian.

They had not seen Thanh since that day. Once, Titi had asked Major Quon about her. He had explained that she was serving her country and the great Ho Chi Minh in the north, learning skills that could not be gained in the south. "One day," he had said with pride, "she will be a mighty warrior."

Bian smiled once more. "You should go," she said. "You do not want to be late."

"Yes," Titi said softly, once again straightening her garments. "I will see you later?"

"Tomorrow," Bian said. "I will sleep now, and tonight I am listening."

Titi nodded. Many nights Bian would listen, overhearing the broadcasts and attending to the men who translated them. It was in this way that she was learning the American language. "I will see you tomorrow," Titi said. Then she passed Bian and made her way to the concrete bunker.

She did not need to wait long tonight, but over the meal Major Quon was silent. That was not usual for him. He loved to talk, and Titi was a good listener. She never repeated what she heard. She only stored it up, to think about and to learn from. Tonight he did not speak, and it was not her place to address him. Then the meal was finished, and he smoked his cigarette before bringing Titi to sit on his lap.

"Tuyen," he whispered. He often remarked how much she looked like Tuyen, but never did he explain who she was. Titi was wary of asking. It was not meet for a girl of her age to question a man of power and position such as Major Quon. Instead she smiled, for he was kind and his gentle hand playing in her hair felt pleasant. The smile pleased him, and he addressed her again by the other name. "Tuyen, Tuyen."

Titi recognized the tone of voice. He had used it on the first night she had seen him. On that day, though, he had spoken Me Dè's name. Then he had removed her clothing. She did not know if she would like _that_. Still, perhaps it would please him if she spoke his name in return.

"Duong," she said softly.

Major Quon stared at her, and his hand ceased its motions through her hair. For a moment Titi was afraid that he would strike her, but instead his fingers stroked her cheek. "Tuyen," he said again, and he kissed her.

This time, though, he did not kiss her coolly next to the mouth. This was a deep and penetrating kiss such as Titi had never had before. Certainly Me Dè gave no such kisses. His lips pressed hard against hers, and the hand that had been upon her hair now held her head in place. The other took her about the waist so that she did not slip off of his lap. Suddenly something was in her mouth, and Titi realized that it was his tongue. This frightened her, for it did not seem very sanitary. Nor was it comfortable, pushing against her own and probing the roof of her mouth. Yet Major Quon was a great man and a mighty warrior, and what he did must be good, and pure and right.

It did not feel good, or pure, or right, and Titi was afraid. What would she do if he tried to take off her clothes as he had Me Dè's? What would Bian say if she tried to run? She could not obey—she would be too ashamed to obey—and yet disobedience was disrespect.

Suddenly Major Quon was standing, lifting her in his arms. He carried her to the corner, to the _bed_ that she had never seen him use. He set her upon the padded mat and groped for the fastening on her _ao dai_, all the while kissing her. Titi fought instinctively, then tried to relax. Surely if such a great man were behaving in this way it was proper to do so, even though she did not feel that it was. She let her hands fall to the mattress, and soon her tunic was open. He then pulled it from her shoulders, and her chest with the small breasts of a girl who would soon become a woman was bare. He touched one, feeling the soft flesh, and she gasped, not certain why she liked a contact that sent terror up her spine.

Abruptly Major Quon withdrew, pulling back and removing his hand. He looked at her, with her legs curled under her, naked to the waist and watching him with her dark, brown eyes.

"Titi," he gasped.

"Duong," she said again.

He shook his head. "Do you know what I want to do?" he asked.

"No, sir," Titi told him.

"But you would do it anyhow?"

"If you wish to do it, it must be right," Titi reasoned.

Something like wonder or shame came to his eyes. He reached out and stroked her hair. He laughed a little and sat on the edge of the _bed_. "Little Titi, so innocent and trusting," he said. Then he picked up her tunic and held it so that she could slip back into it. "Do you love me so much that you would do even that?"

"I… I do not know if I love you," Titi whispered, hoping her honesty would neither hurt nor anger the great warrior. "I love Me Dè, and I love Bian. I love Cam Lan also, for she is very dear to me. You I respect and I like, but I have not known you long enough to love you."

His smile grew broader and he motioned that she should close her tunic. "I hope you will grow to know me better," he said. "And I hope you will love me as a daughter. But not as a lover. I am sorry, Titi. I should not have touched you in that manner."

"I do not mind," Titi said. Now that it was over and the fear was gone it seemed like very little.

He shook his head firmly. "It is wrong," he said. "I am sorry. I miss Tuyen very much, and you look so much like her. Forgive me."

Titi smiled and nodded her head. He crooked his finger and tapped her chin.

"Good," he said. "I hope I may have the honor of your company again tomorrow?"

"Of course!" Titi said, hopping off the _bed_ and onto the floor. "Goodnight?"

"Goodnight."

He made no move to kiss her, so she bent and kissed him, cool and gentle, just beside his mouth.

_MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM_

When Titi returned she found Me Dè alone in the hut. She was sewing by the light of a rush candle, and did not look up as the girl entered. Titi stood very still, watching until she could work up the courage to speak.

"Who is Tuyen?" Titi asked at last.

Me Dè raised her eyes, pale lips pressed together. "Tuyen?" she echoed.

"Tuyen. Major Quon has said, many times, how I look like Tuyen. Who is she?"

There was a silence. Then Me Dè laid aside the smock she was mending and patted the mat on which she was seated. "Sit beside me, Titi," she said.

Obediently, Titi sat, tucking her feet beneath her. Me Dè stroked her hair.

"Tuyen was a girl," she said softly. "A very dear friend. My dearest friend. She was younger than I. As much younger as you are younger than Cam Lan. When Bian was born Tuyen came to live with me and help me care for the child."

"Tuyen took care of Bian?" Titi asked. "What about me? Did she take care of me?"

Me Dè shook her head. "Tuyen died on the day that you were born," she said. "When she had given birth to you, the bleeding would not stop, and she died."

"Oh." Titi felt a pang of sadness. She would be heartbroken if Cam Lan died. It must have been very hard for Me Dè when her friend passed from this life. Then the words the older woman had spoken came home, and Titi frowned. "When she had given birth to me?" she whispered. "But do not mothers give birth to their daughters?"

"They do," Me Dè sighed. "You see, little one, I am not your mother."

Titi's brow furrowed. "But you are," she said. "You have always been my mother."

"No," Me Dè murmured. "I have been as a mother to you, and you as a daughter to me, but you were born the daughter of Tuyen. That is why you look like her. Major Quon speaks the truth when he says so: you look very much like her. Small and dark and beautiful."

"But…" Titi said. "But if you are not my mother, then Bian is not my sister."

It was devastating. She could understand Me Dè being as a mother but not one. The idea that she and Bian were not of one blood pained her young heart. Would Bian not hate her when she discovered they were not sisters? Bian did not like many girls. In fact, Titi was the only one in the village to whom she spoke kindly. Titi could not abide the thought of her beloved and worshipped Bian reviling her.

"No, that is not true," Me Dè said softly. "Bian is your sister."

"But you are Bian's mother, and Tuyen is mine," Titi protested. "Sisters are children of the same mother."

"Sometimes that is true," Me Dè said. "But it takes two people to make a child."

This was something Titi had never heard before. "It does?"

"Yes. It takes a man and a woman to make a child," Me Dè said.

"But children grow inside women," said Titi.

"Yes," Me Dè agreed. "But a man plants the seed in a woman's belly, and that seed grows into a baby."

Titi cocked her head to one side. "How does the man plant the seed?" she queried, her mind conjuring frightening images of the spades and bamboo poles that the villagers used when they planted seeds in the earth.

Me Dè paused before she answered. "A man and a woman embrace," she explained. "They take off their clothing and embrace, and their bodies are joined, and the seed is planted," she said.

"Without tools?" Titi confirmed in relief.

"Yes," Me Dè said, laughing a little. "All that is needed is a man and a woman. Then in many months, the child is born."

"I see," Titi said. She did see, she thought. Remembering the night when Me Dè and Quon, then a captain, had embraced without any clothing, she ventured another question. "Does it happen every time? Does a baby always grow?"

"No," Me Dè said. "It is like the seeds that must be planted in certain seasons. If you plant rice at the wrong time of year, the sun will dry it out and it will die. It is the same with the seeds that grow into babies."

"Oh." Titi paused for thought. "So if Bian and I are sisters, although you are not my mother… then it was the same man who planted our seeds: one in you and one in Tuyen."

Me Dè nodded. "That is precisely so," she said. "You and Bian have different mothers, but the same father. Indeed, Cam Lan and Thanh share that same father also. You are all four sisters."

"We are?" Titi cried in delight. She loved Cam Lan. To learn that they were of the same blood was as exhilarating as the idea that she and Bian might not be had been terrible.

"Yes. The same man fathered each of you, and each on a different woman. You are sisters."

Titi basked in this revelation for a long time. Then she reached out to hug the older woman. "Can I still call you my _me dè_?" she asked softly.

"Of course," she replied. "I am not your mother, but I shall always be your _me dè_."

Titi was glad. She kissed Me Dè, then went to change from her pretty _ao dai_ into one of her old and comfortable smocks. She picked up the mat that she had been weaving over the last weeks, and began to work on it. The candle had burned low, and night was thick around the little hut before one last question formed in her mind.

"Me Dè," she asked. "Who _is_ my father?"

She received no reply.


	5. The Battle of Ap Bac

**January 2, 1963**

Premonition hung thick as the fog, curling around the huts and wrapping the village of Tan Thoi in an ethereal blanket.

Titi awoke before the sun, hastening through her morning chores by the light of Me Dè's candle. Bian was gone, manning the radio tower and listening to the enemy's transmissions. Today was the day. The Americans were coming, and the jungle would run red with blood.

Many of the women and children had left the village seven days before, traveling on foot with their scant possessions in their arms. The colonel had assigned a small company of guerillas to move them to Ap Vanh twenty miles away. It was to that village that the Viet Cong would remove when the battle was won.

Major Quon had explained the matter to Titi, who with Me Dè and Cam Lan had remained behind. The Americans would come, but there was nothing to fear, for they did not know the terrain. The Viet Cong under the valiant colonel would surely triumph. Then they would withdraw swiftly and silently into the jungle where the Americans with their clumsy vehicles and heavy arms could not follow. A great victory would be won this day: a credit to the men of the North and a triumph for the cause of mighty Ho Chi Minh.

In a long line of entrenchments, the battalion lay concealed amid the jungle foliage, curling around the north side of Ap Tan Thoi, and spreading along the treeline toward Ap Bac: a mile and a half guarded well by dour warriors armed with M-1 rifles and an assortment of other weapons, such as they had been able to scavenge, steal or buy. They guarded the southern flank of Bac, and extended parallel to the canal bank to the south. A great crescent was formed. Outside the arc was trackless jungle. Within it were the broad, flat rice paddies: the only terrain flat enough for the Americans' _choppers_ and bulky machines. Thus those defending the villages and the radio tower would be concealed by the terrain, invisible by ground and from the air, while the aggressors would be forced to fight on the flat, naked land, exposed to fire from foes they could not see. What the Viet Cong lacked in weaponry they made up for in knowledge of the land. Major Quon had explained, very clearly and carefully, that that was what would make all the difference.

Titi did not know what to believe. She wanted to trust him, for he was a soldier and surely more knowledgeable in such matters than a mere girl, but she could smell the fear in the air. Cam Lan was frightened, and there was a deep terror in Me Dè's eyes, though she still walked with her back erect and her head held high. She prepared the morning rice, but none of them could eat. The knowledge of the impending battle robbed them of peace of mind and of appetite.

When the mists grew gray with the rising of the sun, Me Dè filled Bian's bowl with rice and bade Cam Lan and Titi take it to her. On most days, it was a task for one girl, but today Me Dè did not want them to go alone, and Titi was glad. She was afraid of the fog. It seemed like an enemy today.

Cam Lan held her hand as they walked. It was difficult to remember that Titi was the younger of the two, for Cam Lan was more open with her fear. Titi squared her shoulders and tried to be strong, but the smothering miasma surrounding them sapped her quickly of her courage.

North of the village, the rearguard of the battle line was hidden among the trees: old men and skinny young boys who nodded respectfully as the girls passed. They reached the tower and entered the low shack huddled at its base.

Bian and a young man who wore the uniform of the North Vietnamese army were seated on high stools, the heavy headphones on their ears. Cam Lan halted at the doorway, reluctant to go any further. Bian's dislike of the older girl had not abated. Even Titi's revelation that they were all three sisters had done nothing to placate Bian. If anything, the idea that she shared the blood of this cowardly schoolteacher seemed to make her even less inclined to forgive Cam Lan's shortcomings.

Titi approached and laid the dish on the table before her sister. Bian looked up briefly, her eyes grim and dark. Her lips curled into a cold smile, and she mouthed her thanks. Returning the smile, the younger girl retreated from the building. Cam Lan followed. They walked back to the village in silence, two slender wraiths in the mists. They were not twenty feet from their hut when they heard it.

It was a sound like thunder, but more high-pitched and far more rapid. It was a sharp sound, a killing sound, and it froze Titi's heart in her mouth. Cam Lan listened, wide eyed and trembling, but she was the first to regain her voice.

"Gunfire!" she breathed. "The Americans. They are here!"

For a moment Titi thought she would scream, but suddenly Cam Lan was on her knees, tears coursing down her cheeks. She lifted the hem of her smock and hid her eyes in the coarse cloth. Whimpers of terror welled up in her throat. Titi placed a hand on the young woman's head, trying to focus on the sounds. She wanted to know where the Americans were, from which direction the sounds were coming, but the fog muffled the noises, making them echo so that it seemed as if the entire village was under attack.

Somehow, control returned to Titi's limbs. With strength disproportionate to her size she seized Cam Lan and dragged her to her feet. Pulling the terror-stricken teacher after her, Titi fled towards the little hut. They dove inside just as the cacophony of an explosion tore through the sounds of the guns.

Me Dè was watching the door, and she cried out in relief as the girls entered. Cam Lan, terrified and lost in horror, fell to the ground and began to weep. Me Dè bent to comfort her. Titi watched for a minute, but as the pounding of her heart slowed, she moved towards the entrance, and peered out into the thick mists. She could hear the guns in the distance. She could hear the sounds of war, violating the silent jungle. The sounds seemed to rape the land, stealing from it something that was an integral part of its essence. The quiet world Titi had known all her life was gone.

She was afraid, but another emotion beat within her breast as well.

Anger.

_MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM_

All day the guns were heard. The fog melted as the sun rose, and by noon the village was bathed in yellow light. Still the sounds of battle were heard, and Titi huddled with the two women in the hut in the empty village. Me Dè tried to maintain a sense of normalcy, but it was useless. Her hands shook so she could not light the cooking fire, and in any case none of them would have eaten.

When the shadows grew long and the sun was stained red, Titi heard voices close at hand. Presently she realized that they were speaking in the language of the Americans. Me Dè did not seem to realize it, but Cam Lan, who had hardly stirred from her corner all day, did. She shook worse than ever and her frightened sobs redoubled.

The first voice was that of a man: harsh and angry. It was shouting commands and reprimands—though Titi did not recognize the words she knew the tones. Then another voice bit back: female, defiant and belligerent. Before Titi could let out a cry of recognition, Bian was thrust into the hut. She fell to her knees. Her long braid had come loose, and the curtain of hair billowed around her. She cursed and spat, then sprung to her feet and tried to run from the building. Before she could, a foot thrust against her knee, driving her back, and Major Quon entered after her.

His uniform was rumpled and stained with sweat, mud and blood. He carried two rifles: his own M-16, the pride of his armory, and an M-1 such as most soldiers used. His face was red with exertion and rage, and he was spewing the strange sounds with such vitriol and rapidity that Titi, watching in confusion and fright at the transformation that had overcome this usually calm and courteous man, half expected him to morph before her very eyes into one of the fire-breathing lizards of legend. His voice rose to a shout, and Bian bit back in kind, also using the alien tongue.

Stiffening with rage, Quon swooped and struck her full across the face with the back of his hand. The blow carried such force that she fell like a bundle of rags, her black tunic and flowing hair dwarfing her tall, bony frame.

"You are a soldier!" Quon roared, reverting to his own language and dealing Bian a vicious kick with his booted foot. "You are a soldier, and you will obey orders!"

"They are bad orders!" Bian snapped, scrambling to her feet. Blood was streaming from her nose and coursing over her lips and chin. "I can fight—"

Quon struck her again, but this time used only his palm, so that although her head whipped to one side she did not fall. "You can fight!" he taunted. "The Americans are so thick on the field that the boys who cannot hit a water buffalo at twenty paces can fight! For the useless soldiers I have such duties! You with your misguided pride—you I need here! Take your orders, you foolish—"

"Orders!" Bian scoffed. "To hide, to skulk here with the old woman and the coward and the child when there is an enemy to conquer and glory to be won—"

Again, Quon struck her. Me Dè was watching, wide-eyed with horror. She flinched as Bian took the blow, but did not cry out. Titi wondered why she did not stop it. This man was harming her daughter, and Me Dè did nothing…

"Glory? We do not fight for glory!" he bellowed. "We fight for truth, for freedom!"

Bian answered back, using the Americans' language. Quon replied in kind, and thrust the M-1 rifle into her hands, pointing at Titi as he spoke. Then from his belt he took a black handgun. Titi recognized it. It was called a _forty-five_. Quon bent and seized Cam Lan by her hair, forcing her to sit up.

"And you help!" he snapped, throwing the small gun into her hand. "You will protect Giang and Titi, and help Bian when the call for retreat comes! You will show the nobility of your blood and as you love your life you will not shame me this day!"

Cam Lan, terrified and confused, nodded frantically. Then suddenly the warrior was gone, and the four females were left alone.

Bian muttered something and spit again, ferociously pushing the strap of the rifle over her shoulder as she paced the narrow floor.

Me Dè crouched down on the floor, watching her daughter. The mother did not speak. There was awe in her eyes, and the same respect she showed the men who even now were doing battle outside the village.

Cam Lan drew her knees to her chest and hid her eyes against them, trembling in silence.

It was Titi who finally spoke, getting to her feet and approaching Bian. "The battle—" she began.

Bian turned, and her eyes smoldered with black fire. "The battle goes well!" she said. "We will see victory this day!" The pride gave way to resentment. "And here I sit, minding the weak and the craven."

Titi was not satisfied with the scant information. "Will the colonel—"

Again Bian cut her off. "The colonel is dead," she said coldly. "He was slain on the field. Major Quon commands now."

"Have you… did you fight?"

Bian's pride was daunting: it seemed to fill the hut with its power. "Five I have slain," she said. "Three of the groveling dogs, slaves to the French. Two Americans." The look of arrogant pleasure vanished. "Every minute more come, and now I may not fight!"

She looked as if she wanted Titi to ask more, but the girl could not. She backed against the wall and slid down to the floor, staring at the gun in Bian's hands. She had killed today. Bian, her beloved sister, had killed not only two Americans, but three of her own people. Titi knew they were traitors to Ho Chi Minh and to the true Vietnam, but still they were of the same blood, of the same land, as she and Bian.

She did not understand, and it frightened her.

_MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM_

Titi must have fallen asleep, because suddenly Me Dè was shaking her awake. The hut was dark, but silhouetted against the moonlight in the doorway was Bian, her rifle held at the ready. Cam Lan was cowering near Me Dè's feet, clutching the gun she had been given. She was holding it by the barrel, like a hammer.

"Come!" Me Dè whispered.

"What is it?" Titi asked, bewildered. Something was wrong, but it took her a moment to figure out what it was. The guns were silent.

"We are leaving," Bian said coldly. "The enemy will have reinforcements in the morning."

Silent and swift, the four women moved through the village and into the jungle to the east. Bian led the way, a black shadow with an M-1. Titi trotted behind her. Me Dè and Cam Lan followed, arms about each other.

Suddenly, Bian stopped. She gestured that the others should crouch in the foliage. Then she wrenched the gun from Cam Lan's hand and forcibly curled the older girl's fingers around it properly. "Protect them!" she hissed. On silent feet, she vanished into the jungle.

Titi sat in terrified silence, aware of Me Dè's laborious breathing and the muffled sobs of Cam Lan. Her heart went out to the young woman. She was so afraid. The older girl was even more frightened that Titi herself.

There was the harsh noise of gunfire, and Cam Lan screamed. Then Titi could hear booted feet thundering through the undergrowth. Not knowing what else to do, she seized the gun from Cam Lan's cold, quivering hands. She had never used one before, nor even held one, but she had often seen the men practicing their marksmanship. She pointed it towards the vastness of the trees, safely away from Cam Lan and Me Dè. Then she pulled the trigger. Titi did not hear the shot as it rang through the night, for she was consumed by the way the weapon kicked in her hand. Cam Lan screamed again, startling Titi into action. She sprang to her feet, grabbing the older girl's wrist.

"Come!" she hissed. "Run!"

Dragging Cam Lan after her, she sped through the trees. Another gunshot rang out but this time it was not Titi who fired. A woman screamed in anguish. Then there was the whistle of an M-1, and silence. Still, Titi kept running, the yards vanishing beneath her as she sped eastward. Suddenly strong arms were grabbing her, and she struggled, trying to close her finger on the trigger again.

"Thtt!" her captor hissed. "Titi, be silent!"

It was one of the young lieutenants. Titi almost wept in relief. She fell against the strong arms, weakened by the strain of the last few minutes and the slow, gnawing stress of the hellish day.

She was being carried, and then someone laid her in the bed of a truck, and Cam Lan climbed up next to her, still weeping. More bodies gathered in around her, and they roared off into the darkness. Titi reflected as she gave in to her faintness that this was the first time she had ever ridden in a truck.

_MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM_

Ap Vanh had been carefully prepared as the place of refuge. The Viet Cong, victorious and proud, were greeted as heroes. They were fed with the best that the villagers could offer, and their wounded were tended to with the greatest care and dignity.

Eighteen men had been harmed in the battle. Doctors of the North Vietnamese army were waiting to tend to bullet wounds and broken limbs. Major Quon had been injured also, and he was spirited away into the outpost bunker, borne on a bamboo stretcher by six of his men. He had rallied the troops after the death of the colonel, and led them to the great triumph, the news of which was by morning already spreading across the land. Spies from Saigon brought the tidings: the Viet Cong, outnumbered four to one, had slain more than a hundred of the enemy and wounded four score. Of their own dead, there were fewer than two score.

Titi did not learn this until afterwards. All that day, she and Cam Lan sat in the bed of the truck that they had ridden from Tan Thoi to Vanh, cold and bewildered. Titi still held Cam Lan's weapon. Around mid-morning, an old woman brought them each a bowl of thick pumpkin soup, which they drank gratefully. Neither of them spoke. They just huddled close to one another and watched the battalion, three hundred strong, as they cleaned their weapons and relived their triumph.

It was mid-afternoon when Bian appeared, coming out of the concrete bunker. Her hair was pulled back in its plait again, but she had lost her hairpin, and so was obliged to let the rope hang down her back. She had her rifle strapped across her shoulder blade, and her face seemed more chiseled and proud than ever.

Titi almost cried out for joy when she saw her, but Bian's expression warned her that something was amiss. There was a coldness in the dark eyes as she approached the truck.

"Major Quon rests," Bian said coolly. "He asks if you will come to him, Titi."

"Of course," Titi said. "What is wrong with him?"

"Shrapnel struck his eye. The doctor has taken it out," Bian said inscrutably. She turned her hard gaze on Cam Lan. "And you, coward," she spat; "you are to come also."

Cam Lan nodded meekly, her head bowed in shame. The two girls climbed down from the truck and followed Bian. Inside the bunker, Major Quon lay on a mat on the floor. His right eye was obscured by a thick wadded bandage through which blood was soaking. There was a curiously vacant expression on his face that Titi learned much later was a result of the morphine the doctor had given him for the pain. He turned his head a little as they entered.

"Ah, Titi," he said, a fond smile on his lips. "Titi who took up arms to protect her commander's woman. Titi who fired upon American soldiers. Brave, valiant Titi."

Titi didn't know what he was talking about at first, but then she remembered the flight from the village: she had grabbed Cam Lan's _forty-five_, and…

Major Quon was beckoning to her. The gesture was small, as if it pained him. Titi hastened to kneel at his side, and with an anguished effort he raised his hand to touch her face. She placed her small hand over his to hold it against her cheek.

"You are a valiant young woman," he said. "I am proud."

Titi blushed with pleasure. From the corner of her eye she could see Bian raising her chin in pride. Quon smiled again, and then turned his good eye upon Cam Lan, who stood by the door, her head bowed in shame.

"And you!" he spat. "Faithless and worthless! Coward and fool!" He gestured at Bian. "Kill her," he said coldly.

"No!" Titi cried as Bian took the rifle from her shoulder. Cam Lan let out a little whimper of terror and sank to the ground, shaking violently. Before she realized she had moved, Titi was standing over her, between Bian's gun and the cowering girl. "No! No!" Titi shouted again. Bian froze, the cruelty in her eyes wavering for an instant.

"What is this?" Quon whispered. "Titi, come here."

"No!" Titi cried. "No, you cannot kill Cam Lan! You cannot! You must not!"

Bian looked at Quon, who motioned that she should lower the rifle. She did so. "Come here, Titi," the wounded warrior repeated. This time she obeyed, trembling a little as she knelt next to him. Again he touched her face. "You would have me spare this piece of filth? This wretched coward who has allowed the Americans to kill Giang?"

Titi gasped. Me Dè was dead? It could not be so! Me Dè could not be dead! She looked frantically at Bian, hoping to see denial. Instead, the older girl nodded, her eyes hard again. Somehow, in the commotion of the flight from the village, the Americans had found Me Dè and killed her. Titi felt tears prickling in her eyes, but she fought them. She would not let them fall.

"You would have me spare this craven slut?" Major Quon asked.

Titi looked at Cam Lan. It wasn't her fault. She had just been frightened. She had been too frightened to do anything. It wasn't her fault…

She couldn't articulate this. All she could do was nod.

Quon closed his eye and sighed, nodding his head wearily as he leaned back against the cushion beneath his head. "Little Titi, with so much love in her heart," he breathed. "Very well. For your valor I will give you her life. Coward, remember!" he barked, raising his head to glare at the other girl. "Titi has spared your life. Now get out of my sight. I do not want to see you again while the winter lasts!"

He fell back against the cushion again, and Cam Lan fled.

Titi lingered, unsure of what to do. Major Quon did not move, nor did he open his un-bandaged eye. Presently a heavy snore escaped his lips. He was asleep!

Bian put her hand on Titi's shoulder. "You can go," she said, with the formal respect of a soldier addressing an honored lady. "The women of the village will house you."

Titi got to her feet and tottered from the room, trembling.

She found Cam Lan on the edge of the village, hiding near the midden where none of the soldiers would see her. The shame in her eyes was obvious, but the grief was stronger. Titi went to her and knelt beside her. They held one another and cried. They wept for Me Dè, they wept to relieve their fear and the strain grating their young nerves, and they wept for the loss of the world they had known. They lay there for so long that the world seemed to lose coherency. There were only tears. Tears and terror and hatred and death.

It was only after the sun had set that one of the village women came and brought them to her hut. She fed them and then sent Cam Lan out to bathe in the stream. Titi was given a basin of hot water and a dish of lye soap with which to wash herself. It was the first of many slights Cam Lan was to endure in the coming years. She was shamed, and she had shamed Quon, and he would not soon forget or forgive.

Left alone in the old woman's hut, Titi undressed and bathed. It felt good to scrub off the sweat and grime of the last two days. When she was finished cleaning her body, she donned a fresh smock that her hostess had provided, and turned to wash her own clothes.

The inner seam of the trousers of her _ao dai _was wet with blood. She stared at it, and then lifted the smock she wore in order to inspect her body. She touched herself between the legs, where the small curling hairs grew. Her hand came away red. Titi gasped, and then she began to cry again. She wanted to tell Me Dè, for she would have been so proud and happy, but Me Dè was dead. Titi had no one to share this joy with tonight. She could not even take joy from it herself, for she was so weary and sad. She could only recognize the truth and wonder what it would mean for her life now that everything else was also changed.

Today she was a woman.


	6. Air Pirate!

Note: It is at this point that I really must remind everyone that this story is not rated "Mature" gratuitously or conservatively. I take ratings very seriously. This story contains graphic violence, profanity, scenes of torture and war, and situations definitely not appropriate for younger readers.

**December 6, 1966**

Ap Hiep was deep in the jungle on the northern edge of the Central Highlands. One dirt road ran out of the village, but it was seldom used, for only the occasional supply truck came through. Most of the traffic in and out of the village was in the form of guerrillas who passed silently through the trackless forests to raid American camps across the boarder in Laos or ventured south to aid in attacks towards Vinh Moc. Though not immune to the widespread bombings, Ap Hiep was too small to be a strategic target and too isolated to raise the suspicions of the Americans. It was the perfect place for the Viet Cong and their families.

The village was twenty miles from Cham Hoi, and it was from here that Major Quon oversaw the guerrilla activities in a radius of forty miles—two days' easy march in any direction. The wound he had taken at the Battle of Ap Bac, where as the tales told, he had led a force of three hundred to victory against the enemy, prevented him from serving actively in the field. A one-eyed guerrilla was a liability to himself and to those he might betray if he broke under American interrogation.

Much had changed since that day Titi had awakened to find Ap Tan Thoi wrapped in fog and the Viet Cong entrenched throughout the countryside. The night of the evacuation, when Me Dè was killed by an American scout and Cam Lan was dishonored, had marked the end of Titi's childhood in many more ways than one. She had never been more than ten miles from the place of her birth before the flight to Ap Vanh. In the weeks following the battle, she had stayed in the village, living with the old woman who had taken her as a guest on the first night. The battalion had made several raids upon the enemy's encampments, but Ap Vanh was not a safe location for headquarters. It was too near the enemy. As soon as Major Quon had recovered sufficiently to travel, they had removed to Cham Hoi (the largest town Titi had ever seen!) to await orders from Hanoi. Titi remembered those early months as being full of turmoil and an underlying terror of the unknown.

At last the battalion had been assigned their region of influence, and Major Quon had begun the work of scouting for an appropriate base of operations. At last he had settled upon Ap Hiep, but it was winter again before Titi was settled in the village that was to become her new home.

She had been given a house of her own. It was a little hut like the one she had grown up in, but it belonged to her alone. It was a gift from Major Quon, who had commanded the villagers to construct it for her, and here she dwelt with Cam Lan. Being in disfavor with Major Quon, the older girl owed her very life to Titi. During the day, she labored at the concrete house in which Quon dwelt, working as an unpaid servant. She did the most unpleasant and unwanted of menial tasks, and cooked for him, and was often kept behind late into the night. When not employed in such a way, Cam Lan silently and gladly maintained the small household in which she dwelt, leaving Titi free to attend to her own work without concern for the necessities of living.

Titi had been immediately installed as the schoolteacher for the village, though at thirteen years she was younger than some of her pupils. Age, Major Quon told her, was not important. What was important was her understanding not only of academics but of the purpose and grand vision of Ho Chi Minh. Titi became the educator not only of the children, learning their letters and their numbers, but of the adults in the village. Each evening when the day's labors were finished and the people had eaten the evening meal, Titi conducted lessons in the principles of communism, sharing them with villagers who had never before given thought to anything beyond today's work, tomorrow's meals, and this season's harvest. Titi was proud to be opening their minds in this way. She was doing work that was good, not only for herself and for those she taught, but for the greater cause of Ho Chi Minh and the perpetual glory of her nation.

Like all other adults in the village, she was taught to use a gun and a rifle. She did not own any weapon, not even a long knife like the one Bian still carried, but in times of war all people must be ready to rise up and fight. So far the occasion to do so had not arisen, but in Titi's heart she knew it was only a matter of time.

Bian was now a guerilla of great knowledge and skill. Newly twenty years of age, she had the tactical prowess of many men twice as old, and in physical dexterity and strength she rivaled the young males. She had grown into a tall and imposing figure, with sharply chiseled features and the same inscrutable dark eyes she had always had. She was not often in the village, for she was too useful a soldier to sit idle. She would return for three or four days and then vanish into the jungle again for many weeks at a time. She had great skill with gun, rifle and knife. Her true gift lay elsewhere, but Titi did had no intimation of that until one clear day in early winter four years after the Battle of Ap Bac, when again her life changed irrevocably.

Bian was home for a brief period of rest. Having slept in Titi's hut and breakfasted with her younger sister, she was now attending to Major Quon, giving reports and discussing tactics with the confidence of a valued protégé addressing her commander and her peer in conflict.

Titi was conducting the morning's lessons. The school was an open structure, without walls. There was only a thatched roof supported by four poles. This offered shade from the sun, which today was shining brightly. It was a cool day, but not overly cold, and the children were happy and complacent as they chanted the familiar rote of numbers that preceded the arithmetic lesson.

The day's instruction had scarcely begun when there was a crackle of a battery-powered megaphone. "American!" bellowed the voice of Sergeant Leung, Major Quon's second-in-command. The sound was strangely muffled and nasal but still unmistakable. "AMERICAN!"

The villagers came running. Everyone knew what such a cry meant. The men had found a crash-landed Air Pirate. A prisoner.

They had heard the howl of battle early in the morning, moving away to the south. One of the anti-aircraft outposts scattered through the foothills and the many-tiered rice paddies must have succeeded in downing an enemy plane, and Leung and his men had been on hand to collect its pilot.

The people assembled eagerly. It had been a long time since they had last been able to greet a prisoner. A very young one had been found two months ago, but his leg had been shattered as he fell from his plane, and Major Quon had not allowed the villagers even a few minutes' retribution, for fear the boy would die before reaching Hanoi.

The soldiers came into the gathering throng leading a pale-bodied captive like an animal brought to the slaughter with a rough rope about its neck. The people hung back as Major Quon came from his house. Bian followed, her rifle on her shoulder. Her brown, wind-burned skin seemed uncommonly pale and beautiful against the black of her tunic and trousers. The commander stepped forward to greet his men, but the female guerilla remained at a respectful distance. Titi edged near Bian, careful not to attract attention as she moved towards the place with the clearest view. Standing next to her sister, Titi could see the prisoner well.

He was smaller than any American she had ever seen, but his arms and torso were hard with lean muscle. He was naked: glancing at his escort, Titi saw one man wearing new combat boots, and another carrying an American survival vest. The prisoner's bare feet were torn and bloody from the march through the jungle. An enormous black bruise spread over his right hip, which was probably part of the reason he limped as he was dragged forward towards Major Quon. His left shoulder was dislocated, but his left hand clutched his right wrist as if that arm, instead, were the true source of his pain. His dog tags were dull with blood from his nose, both eyes were blackened, and his lip was swollen. His hair, Titi noticed, was dark and curling despite its close-cropped cut.

Major Quon seized his throat and spoke to him in the American language. The prisoner bit back, his voice hard, angry and defiant. He was gray with pain and his unclothed body shivered in the cold wind, but he let no trace of weakness infiltrate his tone. He said something more, and the men who knew English laughed.

Bian hissed in rage. "Filth," she muttered. "Filth and scum. Slime."

Titi wanted to ask what the man had said, but Major Quon shouted something and struck the prisoner across the face. His chin smacked his right shoulder, and he stiffened with a muted cry of agony. His knees began to shake.

"Let the people greet their guest!" Quon snapped, turning on his heel and marching back into the bunker.

The soldiers stepped hastily and judiciously back. Finding himself suddenly unrestrained, the American looked around. His pain-dulled eyes sparked suddenly with intelligence and wary reasoning. He was seeking an escape, as if he could outrun armed and booted men. Titi was about to add "uninjured", but then she noticed that two of the guards had darkly bruised faces, and Sergeant Leung's nose was broken, bleeding copiously down his face. The small pilot had put up a good fight, but he would pay for his resistance. The soldiers he had obviously attacked were the only people with the power to stop the villagers.

The American took two loping steps back towards the jungle, then froze, realizing that he was surrounded by the villagers. Children ran to find stones and cut switches of bamboo. The adults stared at the naked man as if he were meat, and they starving wolves. The captive spun around, looking for escape. His lips were white, and Titi saw a spark of terror in the dark eyes in the moment before the first blow fell upon his back.

He tried to fight back, but the punch that he aimed at the hunter who had hit him went wild and struck harmlessly. His face contorted with pain as the inertia reverberated up his arm and into his dislocated shoulder. He kicked, his bare foot hammering the man's shin and eliciting an exclamation of rage. Then another man grabbed the loose shoulder and brought a knee into sundering contact with the prisoner's groin. He crumpled soundlessly. A woman seized a fistful of hair, and then as one the mob fell upon him.

Bian never participated in the ritual. It was the catharsis of the weak. The strong had other ways of avenging themselves upon their foes, and Bian was not weak.

Titi was. She meant to stand back, aloof as her sister was, but the air crackled with passion, and the bloodlust that seized the peasants was not to be resisted. Soon she found herself in the fray with the rest, screaming maledictions and obscenities and scrabbling for a chance to deal a blow of some kind against the American soldier. She felt her nails bite into the soft flesh behind his ear. Her foot struck repeatedly at his ribs as she was jostled and pushed away, only to fight the throng again, hoping for another chance to harm him. All around her, the others did the same.

Usually the soldiers would step in when they felt that the captive had had enough, but this time the man had broken the sergeant's nose, and such small favors were not for him. His captors stood by as the frenzy peaked and began slowly to die away. The men came back to their senses first, and left in haste, ashamed of their own lack of control. Their departure fueled a second wave of rage from the women, and it was most often now that the soldiers would step in. Not today. One by one the women fled too, dragging small children away with them, unable to look at the result of their madness. Titi tried to follow, wanting to hide in her hut and surrender to exhaustion, reveling in the aftermath of ecstasy, but Bian stopped her and forced her to her knees with an imperious hand.

"Wait," she ordered firmly.

Only the young boys remained, forming a tight knot around their victim. They kicked at the American, beating him with shafts of bamboo and pelting him with sharp stones. Titi watched, breathless and enervated in the wake of the fit. At last the game lost its appeal and the boys wandered off, bored rather than ashamed. A little fellow, one of Titi's best pupils, was the last to go, lingering to poke at the man until it became obvious even to the child that the American could no longer feel it. Then he too departed, and only Bian remained, staring without emotion and gripping Titi's shoulder.

Now Titi understood the shame she had seen in the eyes of the adults. The bloodlust they could not resist was a terrible thing. For the first time she could see that. They could not fight it, they needed its catharsis, and yet they could not face its result. The proud, brown-eyed American who had spoken boldly back to Major Quon was now a motionless, bloodied lump of flesh lying limp and wretched in mud mixed with his own bodily fluids, not all of them red.

Bian gestured broadly at him, her eyes flashing. "See?" she said. "This is justice."

Titi knew she had to be strong and proud like her sister. She was a grown woman now. At her age, Bian had already been a blooded warrior. Titi wanted to be a brave soldier like Bian, but the sight of the pulpy mass that had been straight and bold not an hour before sickened her. She knew that it must be justice, but she did not understand how it could be.

With a sharp, efficient motion, Bian slung her rifle across her back and strode towards the unconscious captive. She gestured that Titi should follow her, and the younger woman obeyed. Bian bent and seized the American by one battered upper arm. Titi took the other. The bloody flesh was cold and slippery beneath her fingers, like meat cut from a pig that had not been hung to drain. Her instinct was to release in revulsion, but Bian held fast, and so Titi forced herself to do the same. Together, they dragged him across the clearing towards Major Quon's bunker. Bian kicked the door once, defiantly, and a lieutenant admitted them.

Major Quon was seated behind his table, waiting for them. He gestured that they should release their hold, which the young women did. The American hit the concrete floor with a sickening _smack_, and Titi's stomach rebelled within her as he moaned in anguish. She had wrongly assumed that he was dead to all sensation. He was not.

Quon barked something in the language of the Americans. Bian's lip curled and she answered in kind. Then she kicked the Air Pirate viciously in the ribs. As he reacted, reflexively cringing, she spat disdainfully upon him. Quon spoke again in the tongue Titi did not understand. Bian nodded at Titi, and following her sister's lead the younger girl bent and took an arm again. This time they hauled him up so that his shoulder was level with Bian's. She kicked at his twisted feet, snapping an order. Though he could not open his eyes and his head lolled to one side as if he were not conscious, the man flexed both feet and they slapped against the floor as Bian forced him to stand.

He could not stay upright on his own, but the girls' firm hands held him and he could not fall, either. Titi could feel a bone-deep trembling in the arm she gripped between her ten slender fingers. A knot of muscle at the base of his jaw twitched with the effort of holding back the agony that was consuming him.

Quon rose and rounded the table. The naked socket of his left eye twitched, and the muscles within writhed. He chose always to leave his scar exposed, the hole where his eye had once been bared to the world. It was a sight that struck fear into the hearts of his rivals, and intimidated his subordinates. The only people who were not troubled by it were Bian, who feared not even death in the hell-fires that the Americans would drop upon the jungle, and Titi, who knew that however hideous his face, it in no way detracted from whom he was. It puzzled her that others were troubled by the sight, and bewildered her still more that neither Quon's soldiers, nor the women of the village, nor even Bian saw him as a kind, refined and intelligent man—quick to anger, yes, but good at heart.

She saw something of his grim reputation as he seized the American's bruised chin and forced his head up. The man somehow kept the flinch from his face, but he could not banish it entirely from his body, which shuddered afresh beneath Titi's grasp.

Major Quon spoke, his voice stern and commanding. The American responded, his words slurred and ribbed with obstinately suppressed agony. Another question came from Quon, and another answer from the wounded pilot. A smile of triumph flickered briefly over the major's face, as if he felt that he was obtaining clear cooperation from the prisoner. Another question came. The prisoner spoke. His tone varied not at all from the previous answers, but it was obvious that the response displeased Bian, for she tightened her hold so that the man hissed in pain. Quon blinked patiently, and repeated the question. The captive responded as before.

"Scum. Filth, slime," Bian snarled, though surely she knew the man could not understand her words any more than Titi understood his.

Quon spoke, very slowly and clearly, his voice stern and yet manipulative. The prisoner pulled back his swollen and purple lips, and sent a stream of bloody sputum spattering over Quon's chin. The Viet Cong commander wasted no time in driving a fist into the man's stomach with all the force he could muster. The prisoner fell back with such rapidity that it was all Titi could do to maintain her hold. The sound of anguish that rumbled through his chest but came only faintly from his lips turned her stomach, and she wanted to run, but she could not—she did not dare seem weak or frightened, not before both Bian and Major Quon. Thus she held fast and did not allow the man to fall. Bian forced him to stand again, though his legs were now shaking so violently that he could hardly stand. Quon wrathfully wiped his face, and then took hold of the American's chin again, this time with a bruising grip.

Titi watched in mute horror as the question was posed again. The prisoner made no answer at all this time, and Quon struck him with the back of his hand. The gold ring inset with onyx that Quon had received from Ho Chi Minh for his valor at Ap Bac cut into the captive's face, opening another bloody wound in his already battered skin. When Quon repeated the question for a fourth time, the prisoner muttered two short syllables, and again Bian stiffened in righteous anger. As if encouraged by her reaction, the man ventured to add four more syllables after that. Quon's hand flew to the rim of his vacant socket, and Titi wanted to shrink away from the rage in his remaining eye. He backed away from the captive and gestured to the soldiers on the sides of the room.

"Bind him," he ordered. "He will talk. The criminal is resisting my questioning. He must be punished."

The men took hold of the captive, and Bian let go. Titi followed her lead all too gladly, and stared at the blood smearing her palms. She wanted to flee the room, but Quon beckoned to her, and she approached his side. He put his arm around her shoulder and smiled.

"You can watch, little Titi," he said. "You are old enough now to serve your country. You are old enough to aid in this war."

Titi did not want to aid in the war—but then she thought of Cam Lan and the life of drudgery and misery she led. That was the price for cowardice and pacifism. She did not know if she were ready to pay that price. She liked the respect with which she was treated. She enjoyed her evening meals with the major. Most of all, she needed Bian's approval and affection, and if she refused to stay and watch what was transpiring here she would have no claim to either. So she nodded complacently and watched as the men went about their work.

One of them forced the man to the ground, manipulating his limbs as he did so and stretching the man's bruised and bleeding legs straight out in front of him. Another brought forward a length of rope. Sergeant Leung motioned for one of the lieutenants to kneel with his shinbones bearing down on those of the prisoner, so that he could not move his legs. Then the one who had induced the captive's present position took hold of each elbow. Suddenly the pilot panicked and tried to writhe free of the restraining hands. A hoarse scream of agony tore through him as his torso dragged on his injured arms. Leung dug one knee into his back and wrenched his elbows backwards. There was a soft, sucking _pop_, and suddenly the prisoner's right collarbone was jointed in the middle. Titi couldn't stifle a tiny exclamation of horror at the sight. The man's face contorted atrociously despite the inflammation of his ever-growing bruises, and his breath caught in his throat.

Titi looked at Bian, seeking some comfort in this moment of consternation. Bian, however, was watching the scene without passion. Her dark eyes were cold and a small line of smug retribution had appeared at the corner of her mouth. She lacked the hungry look in the eyes of the young men, and yet she had nothing, either, of the smoldering rage that Quon and Leung wore so brazenly.

They were lashing the captive's wrists and forearms together now, right to the elbow, and he was screaming as his limbs dragged on the dislocated left shoulder and the fractured collarbone. Quon barked something in the man's own tongue, but if it were an insult the man ignored it, and if it were a question he could not answer it. Leung finished with the ropes and forced the man's head back, stuffing a rag deep into his mouth. The captive gagged and struggled despite the anguish this had to be causing his restrained extremities. Leung only pushed the rag further in, grabbing another and shoving until it was plain that it would go no farther. Titi pressed her body closer against Major Quon's, and he held her snugly with his arm.

Then they began bending him. A lieutenant took his hands and started to lift them over his head. Leung knelt against his back, forcing him forward. The man's abdomen spasmed and he made sounds deep in his throat that Titi knew would have come out as shrieks of torment, had it not been for the cloth blocking his mouth. His head drew nearer his legs, and his arms were pulled still higher, still farther forward. The dislocated shoulder stretched and stretched, and the split in his collarbone widened. Then there was a sharp snapping sound, and his right shoulder was out as well. His forehead was now not eight inches from his thighs, and still they were contorting him. Then suddenly fluid exploded from his nose, spattering his body and the floor around him. It was watery, stained with red… Titi thought at first it was blood, but then she realized that he had vomited again. Unable to escape through the usual route, the bile and acid had expelled itself in the only way it could.

The prisoner's panicked breathing grew still more frantic, gurgling through the fluid burning his nostrils. Titi's knees shook, but she forced them to stay still. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. They would kill him!

But, said another voice, he was an Air Pirate and he deserved to die!

But no one deserves this!

He is an American! They killed Me Dè!

"STOP!"

Quon chuckled and stroked her cheek. "You want me to stop it, little one," he asked gently. Titi raised her fingers to her lips as she realized in dismay that she must have cried aloud.

Leung straightened abruptly, and the lieutenants withdrew. "No point," the sergeant said as the American's limp body fell to one side and his head struck the concrete with a bone-jarring crack. "He will not answer any questions for a while."

Titi looked at the captive, well and truly unconscious now. The body scarcely looked human, twisted and bloodied and soiled as it was. She shuddered and hid her eyes against Major Quon's shoulder. He stroked her hair. "You see? We do not suffer without retribution," he said softly. "What he suffers he has earned. He is a black criminal. He must pay for the evil he has done. Do you understand?"

No! No, Titi did not understand. He had been strong and straight and handsome three hours ago. Now he was bent and broken, bleeding on the hard floor. She did not understand. Yet she knew—her mind knew—that this man was one of the ones who dropped the bombs on the jungle. One of the strangers who had come to her country with no thought but to kill, to destroy.

She straightened and looked into Quon's eye. She nodded her head solemnly. "I understand," she said. She lied.

"Good girl," Quon murmured, bending and kissing her forehead. "You go and rest now. Later we will talk again."

Titi nodded once more, and turned to go. Bian was watching her, and there was a look in her dark eyes that Titi knew well, though it had never been directed at her before. Suspicion. Bian was disturbed that she had shown pity for the wretched captive. Titi knew she had to convince her sister that they saw the matter in the same light.

Titi squared her shoulders and walked towards the door. As she passed the American she paused, and spat upon him as Bian had done.

"Air Pirate," she said scornfully.

It was only late at night, while Bian joined the men guarding the prisoner to smoke and laugh as they prodded at their helpless prey, that Titi dared to bury her head in Cam Lan's arms and weep for the American's suffering and the ugliness she had witnessed with such complacency .


	7. School Is Dismissed

**December 7, 1966**

The children were not minding their lesson. Worse, Titi could not even upbraid them, for she too was unable to focus. Each time she resumed her instruction on the rudiments of multiplication, another sound would drift through the air from the direction of Major Quon's bunker. At first it had been only a feeble, rasping rambling in an alien tongue, but soon it began to crescendo to shouts, desperate and plaintive supplications that tore the air and tugged at the bosom. The prisoner was begging for something, and the men guarding him were obviously unwilling to give it, for the pleas continued. After a while, they were punctuated with hoarse, breathless screams.

After each such cry the children would whisper excitedly in clear defiance of the rules of the little open-air school. This novelty would not last, and they were determined to enjoy it. Soon a detail of guerrillas would be assigned to escort the captive on the long road to Hanoi. Then the fun would be over until the next Air Pirate was found. Such times as this made the children feel strong and safe. Each tormented shout was a promise that their own people had control. The life of fear and uncertainty, in which the terror of the bombings had become almost commonplace, was dispersed by the captive's cries. The sounds were a reminder that the North Vietnamese were not merely victims, but also at times victors, capable of making their foes cringe and cry like infants.

Such an innocent outlook would never be Titi's again. She could not hear the shrieks of agony without remembering the grotesque ritual she had witnessed the day before. In each frantic supplication she heard the desperation of the man who had been bent and twisted like a willow branch upon the concrete floor of Major Quon's war room. When she closed her eyes, she could see the American's anguished expression as his collarbone split in two.

Titi had not yet spoken to Major Quon since he had dismissed her the day before. She was not sure how she would be able to face him. She was still trying to reconcile the refined, intelligent man with whom she dined almost every evening, and the cold, wrathful commander who had overseen yesterday's… she did not even know what to call it. _Interrogation_ did not seem the right word, for so few questions had been asked.

"Teacher," one of the littlest girls ventured. Titi came abruptly back to the school, abandoning the plaintive whimpers.

"Yes, Yai Lui," she said. "What is it?"

"Why does he scream like that?" the child asked innocently. "Why do they not kill him?"

"Yes!" one of the bigger boys exclaimed eagerly. " When Vât broke his leg the men shot him! He bellowed and bellowed, and they shot him!"

"Yes!" his friend cried. "They shot him between the eyes!"

Two or three of the girls began to weep. "Why did they shoot him?" one sobbed. "Teacher, why did they shoot Vât?"

Vât had been the leader of the village's team of oxen: a great, docile beast who had twisted his leg beyond repair in a snake hole the previous summer. Many of the children were still traumatized by the sudden and brutal loss of an animal who had been almost a pet to them even though his primary value to the village was pragmatic. Titi could, at least, answer that question.

"Vàt was in too much pain, Linh," she told the child. "He suffered so much that it was kinder to kill him. He was a good ox. He died for the glory of Vietnam."

That was one of the first principles that Major Quon had taught her, in the days before the Battle of Ap Bac when Mè De was still alive and the world was small and simple. All deaths—those in loyal service, those in violent senselessness, and those of slaughtered foes—were for the glory of Vietnam.

The platitude consoled the children, but some of the older ones were still questioning the current arrangement.

"Why do we not kill the Air Pirate?" the eldest girl in the school asked. "His death would bring glory also."

"And he would stop screaming," her sister added, shivering as a fresh howl tore the air.

"I—" Titi looked frantically about. She did not know the answer. He was in so much pain: surely it would be kinder to bury a bullet between his eyes and end it all.

"We do not kill him because he is a criminal," a harsh, proud voice declared. Titi looked up from her stool to see Bian striding towards the canopy. "He is a criminal, and he must suffer for his crimes. One scream for each bomb he has dropped upon the land. One wound for each child he has murdered. His pain is justice. To kill him would be to show mercy to one who has never shown it himself."

The children were struck silent by the awe of being addressed by such a fearsome warrior. The order that Titi had been unable to maintain was restored in an instant. Bian paused, regarding the children with her cold, black eyes.

"The lessons are over," she said. "I have need of your teacher now. You are dismissed."

Falling silent in her presence was one thing, but the children had never been dismissed by anyone but their teacher. They did not move. In the lull, another soul-chilling cry rang out. It woke Titi from her stupor. "School—school is dismissed," she said.

The children dispersed as if blown by a mighty wind. Most ran towards the bunker, eager to see what was happening beyond it. Titi rose and looked questioningly at her elder sister.

"Major Quon wishes to see you," Bian said coolly. "He has much to say to you."

"Why?" Titi asked, terror seizing her heart. Was he angry because she had wept when Leung had bent the American so ruthlessly? Was he going to punish her for crying out against the—again, questioning did not seem the right word—as she had? What did he want of her now, in the middle of the morning?

Bian's expression softened, and Titi's heart was eased. Bian looked that way upon her alone. It was the loving gaze of a sister, and Titi knew that while she had Bian's love nothing could harm her. A memory of black blood running over a smooth stone came to Titi. Neither bombs, nor American guns, nor Quon's wrath could harm her while Bian was her protector.

The older girl reached out to touch Titi's face, gently. Her sun-browned lips parted in a smile as rare and precious as a red butterfly. "Do not be frightened, little sister," Bian said. "You have done well, and he is proud. As am I."

Titi followed her, carrying her dark head high and moving with quiet dignity through the village. As they neared the bunker, the sounds coming from beyond it crystallized in her mind again: desperate, plaintive cries punctuated by shrieks of torment and Leung's voice, taunting in the American tongue. Titi shivered.

"What does he ask for?" she inquired softly.

Bian turned, and the cool, cruel glimmer was in her eyes again. "He wishes us to tend his arms," she said scornfully. "He seeks treatment for his injuries, as if he had ever done anything in his worthless life that warranted kindness."

A tortured howl made the small hairs on the back of Titi's neck stand on end. "What are they doing to him?" she cried.

Bian's lip curled in disgust. "The scum is lazy and undisciplined," she said. "He refuses to stand at attention. The sergeant must force him to do it. He is no soldier: he is a common criminal."

"Yesterday…" Titi murmured. "Yesterday, he said something that angered you."

"He said many things that angered me," Bian snarled. "He is a foul, stinking wretch. He shows no respect. He mocks Major Quon. He refuses to answer the questions we put to him. He calls himself a 'prisoner of war', when he is nothing but an Air Pirate. An unscrupulous murderer."

"Mocks Major Quon?" Titi gasped. She could not believe it. How could anyone mock such a brave, noble and mighty man? Major Quon was a war hero and one of the Viet Cong's most valuable commanders!

"Yes," hissed Bian. "He has called Major Quon one-eyed, and impugned the honor of his parents. He has said other things, too, that evidence great disrespect."

"One-eyed?" Titi cried indignantly. "How does he dare to say that? The wicked—" Another scream tore the air, but this time Titi did not flinch. The Air Pirate deserved the pain. He had no right to speak out against Quon's wounds, the marks of valor and victory and honor that he bore because the Americans had come to meddle in affairs that were none of their concern—to murder without cause or reason.

"Wicked indeed. Filth. Scum. Slime." Bian's eyes were dark with rage.

"How did he impugn the honor of Major Quon's parents?" Titi asked in horror, her tongue unable to curtail the questions.

"There is a word the Americans have for a child born out of wedlock," Bian explained. "It is a word implying worthlessness and ugliness. The American has called Major Quon by this word. He has used many vile expressions."

"What expressions?" Titi asked.

Bian answered her in the American tongue. Titi shook her head, and Bian repeated the words more slowly. Titi listened carefully to the sounds. First there were two brief syllables that she recognized at once because they sounded like a man's name: Phuoc Yu. "_One-eyed bastard_," Bian said, and Titi identified those four syllables also. She tried to repeat them, and Bian smiled a little at her effort.

"Very close," she said, then continued wrathfully. "The first part speaks of the major's honorable wound as if it were an impediment, something to be ashamed of! The second is the American word for 'illegitimate child'. More important than these disrespects, though, little one, the scum refuses to answer our questions. Name he will give us, and rank. Date of birth and service number, but nothing else."

"Is that not all that he is required to give?" Titi queried. She knew that the soldiers of the Viet Cong had instructions to offer nothing else if they were captured by the Americans.

Bian spat upon the ground. "He is not a prisoner of war. His country has not declared war on Vietnam. He came, against international law, to murder us. He is an Air Pirate. A criminal. He has no rights."

The American cried out again, begging wretchedly for respite from his torment. A cold smile appeared upon Bian's lips.

"I think he is learning that now," she said.

By now they had reached the door of the concrete building and Bian led the way into the room. The place where the American had been punished was stained with blood and vomit and other fluids. Cam Lan, dressed in one of her ragged old smocks, was on her hands and knees as she scrubbed away the foulness. She kept her eyes lowered respectfully, but as Bian passed she cringed away as if in fear. Titi wanted to speak to her other sister, the disgraced one, but Bian swept past the knot of men surrounding Quon's table, and entered the back room at once.

Major Quon stood with his back to the door, leaning on the sill of the chamber's only window. From the noises that drifted in through it, Titi knew what he was watching with such intent. Her own eyes, however, were drawn to the other person in the room.

It was a woman, sitting on the major's bed with one foot on the mattress and the other dangling just above the floor. She wore weather-stained black uniform trousers, but nothing else, and what was revealed by the lack of tunic and band held Titi's full attention. It was at once one of the most piteous and the most hideous things that she had ever seen.

The pale skin of the woman's left breast was perfectly normal: smooth and honey-colored. It was round and soft as nature had intended it to be. Its mate, however, was anything but. Here, the flesh was gnarled and lumpy. It was as if the woman was a candle, one side of which was still white and even, while the other had been turned too near the fire, so that its surface bubbled and melted in strange and ugly shapes. The right breast was shriveled. The nipple and areola were gone. The adipose tissue had been melted away and replaced by blister-like scars webbed with red and purple blemishes. This mass of ugliness extended along her side, vanishing below the waistband of her trousers. It stretched upwards, too, over collarbone and shoulder and up the side of her neck. Her right upper arm was similarly misshapen. Then she turned to look at the two young women, and Titi could not help but gasp a little.

The right side of her face, too, was mangled and waxy, veined with purple striae and bubbling as if boiled. Her eyebrow was gone, and a fringe of coarse black hair was combed forward to cover the place where her scalp had been damaged. Her eyelid drooped low, though the orb beneath it was still clear and keen. The roiling flesh was a permanent and hideous memento of… Titi could not imagine of what.

The woman saw her horrified stare, and the left side of her mouth smiled—Titi did not suppose she could move the other side.

"Hello, Titi," the stranger said.

The girl's eyes widened. Did this woman know her?

"Do you not remember me?"

Titi shook her head. Outside, the prisoner screamed again.

"I taught you your letters," the disfigured visitor said.

Titi swallowed hard. "Thanh?" she breathed.

The woman nodded. With a burst of nostalgic affection, Titi wanted to run to embrace her one-time teacher. Then she remembered how Thanh had always been cold and formal, and also Titi was not sure that she wanted to touch the horrible, rippled skin.

"What is it?" Thanh asked. "My face?"

Titi nodded, but her eyes could not leave the withered breast. "What has happened?" she whispered.

Thanh shrugged her shoulders—the whole, beautiful one and the ugly, melted one. She was smoking one of Major Quon's cigarettes and she toyed with it as she spoke. "You know of napalm?"

"Yes." Napalm was an American weapon: liquid fire that rained down upon the jungle. It clung to whatever it touched, burning relentlessly.

"I was in a firefight near Mai Choi in the south," Thanh said. "I ran, but not swiftly enough."

"I… I am sorry," Titi murmured.

"I am not," Thanh said. "I am proud. My body is proof to all of the justice of our cause. It is evidence of the enemy's crimes."

With painfully exquisite timing, another howling sob rang out. Major Quon turned from the window, smiling fondly.

"Titi," he said, extending his hand. Titi hurried to take it. Her worries about being able to face him after what she had witnessed fled. He was a great man, and a brave man, and he cared for her. As their fingers met Quon drew her to him. He kissed her forehead and with his free hand stroked her hair. The shirt of his uniform was untucked and hanging open over his chest. He, too, was smoking.

"Thanh is going to travel to Hanoi," he said. "She will take with her Lieutenant Khoi and three other men. They will deliver reports to the government and dispense with other important business."

"I see," Titi murmured politely. She wondered why she had been sent for. Certainly, it was nice to see Thanh again, but it did not seem to justify disrupting school for the whole day.

"It is my wish," Quon said, "that you accompany her."

Titi's heart began to race with excitement. "To Hanoi?" she exclaimed.

"Yes," Quon said. "It is right that you should see that which you praise so well. On the journey, also, there will be many opportunities to learn. Thanh will teach you to be a warrior. Khoi can instruct you in the language of the Americans. It is time, little Titi, for you to begin to fight."

Titi did not want to fight! She wanted always to be the schoolteacher and to live a quiet and peaceful life. Yet those who spoke such words were reviled and abused. Rather than risk such ignominy, she bowed her head respectfully.

"Yes, Major Quon," she said with obedience. "When do we depart?"

Thanh studied the tip of her cigarette pensively. "As soon as the pig can walk," she said.

"As soon…" Titi echoed, confused. Pig? Why would they take a pig to Hanoi? Besides, the village livestock was all healthy. The animals had no difficulty walking.

Five eyes turned as one when Thanh, Bian and Quon looked to the open window through which sounds of wretched blubbering began to drift.

Bian spat disdainfully upon the concrete floor. "I would drag the scum by the neck," she growled.

Thanh shook her head, reiterating firmly, "As soon as he can walk."


	8. Into the Jungle

**December 10, 1966**

Thanh did not speak the American language. Titi watched as she addressed the prisoner in French instead.

"_Comment allez-vous?_" she said, squatting before him.

The captive was sitting in the dirt, his bound legs straight out before him. He was hunched forward so that his whole collarbone, the left one, pressed against the stake to which he was bound. He was affixed to it by a rope and iron collar, like a calf set out on a picket. Had it not been for the support of this pole, Titi could not see how he could have positioned himself without agony. His dislocated shoulders and the broken collarbone gave his torso a bizarre and inhuman appearance. Coupled with his battered face, bruised ribs, and contused abdomen, they surely would have made it impossible for him to lie on his stomach. His wrists, bound so tightly that his fingers were swollen and purple, would have rendered lying upon his back painful also, even without the raw red welts where Bian had flogged him with a knotted rope when he had refused yet again to answer any of Major Quon's questions. A sheen of perspiration coated his unclothed body, glossing over skin now red with sunburn. His bloated lips gaped to allow breath, for his nostrils were caked with blood and grime. He was conscious, Titi was quite certain, but she had never seen such a portrait of misery. After four days of questioning, the American already looked more like a beast than a man.

Thanh leaned closer and poked the prisoner's ribs, careful to choose a black and inflamed place. The captive cringed as if expecting worse to follow, and a moan of suffering escaped his throat.

"_Comment allez-vous_?" Thanh repeated. "_Nous départons aujourd'hui. __Il faut vous mangez._"

Titi did not speak French, but she understood it quite well. Thanh was telling the captive that he had to eat. Titi carried the meal: a bowl of good white rice, and another of water laced with ground ginger. The captive did not seem to understand what was being said. His eyes opened as far as they could, but they were scarcely more than slits in the swollen face. He mumbled something incoherent.

Thanh shook her head. "_Je ne comprend pas_," she said. "_Es-que-vous parlez français_?"

"I do not think he does," Titi ventured.

"Bring the dishes," Thanh said. Titi stepped forward, watching the hideous, labored breathing of the wretched man. Thanh took the bowl of rice. "_Il faut vous mangez,_" she repeated, more sternly.

"_Fuck you_," the American muttered. The words were scarcely audible through the swelling around his mouth and lips, but Titi recognized them. He used those words whenever he felt that he was being persecuted. Bian had explained what the expression meant, and Titi bristled with indignation now. The uncouth and ill-bred Air Pirate disgusted her.

"_Tais-toi_!" Thanh snapped. She grabbed the rope where it was knotted to the collar, shaking it wrathfully. The captive's teeth ground together with a resounding squeak, and his eyes closed again. Thanh let go in order to reach for the rice. The prisoner fell backwards, collapsing over his bound arms. A hoarse, harsh shriek bubbled up from the back of his throat. "Damn him," Thanh muttered. She gestured at Titi. "Sit him up and keep him up," she ordered.

In the last few days, Titi had already learned that it was best to do as she was told, as swiftly as possible. Major Quon, Bian, Thanh and the others were soldiers, accustomed to having their commands obeyed. Whenever she hesitated, they would regard her strangely. She did not want to stand out. The strange new expectations suddenly forced upon her were frightening, and she was still trying to adapt.

She knelt behind the man and forced her hands beneath his back. The bloody weals were loathsome to touch, but she held fast, pulling him off the ground and pushing him forward into a sitting position.

He cried out like a dog struck with a broom: a sharp yelp of indignation and pain. His head lolled to one side as Titi shifted into a less uncomfortable position. Her hands navigated his bare flesh, trying to find a way to support his weight adequately. He was feverish and trembling, his skin covered in goosepimples from the cold winter air. The sunburn was peeling and he was rough with mosquito bites. Agony left him limp, and to keep him upright Titi was obliged to sit behind him. Her legs she spread on either side of his. She had been suited for the trail by Bian, and she wore the black uniform of the Viet Cong guerillas. For this she was glad. Such a position would have been impossible in an _ao dai_, and, given the man's state of undress and the position of his restrained hands, most disgraceful in a smock.

"_Bouvez_!" Thanh instructed, holding the bowl of water to the prisoner's lips.

A tremor ran through his body, and Titi forced her hand between his left arm and his side, clutching his chest before he could fall.

"_Bouvez_!" repeated the guerilla. Thanh tilted the bowl so that a little water lapped against his split lip. The man gasped and then took a frantic, gulping mouthful. The unexpected taste made him choke, coughing and sputtering even as spasms of pain shook him.

Titi pressed her free hand to the American's forehead so that he would not strike his chin upon the broken collarbone. She looked up at Thanh, who was frowning in disapproval. The root with which the water was flavored was necessary. Since capture, he had been given very little water—only sufficient amounts to wet his mouth and allow speech during interrogation. Consuming any considerable quantity now would make him ill. Ginger-water would not sour in his belly as plain well water would, but that did no good if he would not take it.

"Does he think that it is drugged?" Titi asked.

"I do not know what he thinks! He is a fool!" Thanh snapped. She used the first two fingers of her right hand to scoop up a portion of rice, which she forced between his teeth. With her head over his left shoulder, Titi was well-positioned to see his tongue as it moved reflexively to push out the grain, the way a baby rejects food not to its liking. The rice spilled over his bare abdomen and into his lap.

Thanh set the dish on the ground and slapped him sharply. He whimpered deep in his throat, and the trembling of his body against Titi's worsened.

"_Si vous ne mangez pas, je faisais vous mangez_!" Thanh threatened. She raised the bowl of water again.

This time the captive sipped cautiously. Either he recognized the flavor at last, or he had decided that he needed fluid too desperately to care, because he began to drink frantically. He was swallowing with such force that his broken collarbone shuddered and wobbled. Between each desperate gulp he gasped raggedly, tormented with agony but unable to refrain from the action precipitating it. When Thanh took away the dish, still half-full, he cried out piteously and tried to follow it. Titi's hand held him back.

Thanh again pushed some rice into his mouth, and this time he swallowed it. She gave him more, and then more, until his jaw worked fruitlessly. Then she let him have another mouthful of water before resuming with the rice.

When both bowls were empty, Thanh stood up. "Good," she said levelly, as if she had not just spent the last half-hour feeding a grown man as if he were an infant. "Now, leave him alone and find him something to wear. It is undignified to travel with an unclothed man."

It seemed to Titi that it would surely be debasing for the prisoner, too, to go uncovered, but perhaps an Air Pirate and a criminal deserved such shame. She slipped carefully from behind the American, pushing him forward so that his left collarbone again leaned against the stake. She withdrew once it seemed he would not fall.

"Where shall I find a garment?" Titi asked, her eyes still fixed on the prisoner.

Thanh touched her mutilated cheek thoughtfully. "Surely Cam Lan has some rag she can do without," she said. "I must buy her a new smock. Though she is disgraced she is still of my blood, and it displeases me to see her so clad."

Titi felt a thrill of indignation. Did Thanh not want to know why Cam Lan was disgraced? She spoke of her as a sister, but she did not seem willing to tender her the benefit of a hearing. She was blindly accepting Quon's ultimatum.

Thanh was still speaking. "Yes," she mused. "Yes, take the oldest of Cam Lan's garments. It will be good enough for the Air Pirate. I have business with Major Quon now. Be back here in one hour's time. We will depart then."

Titi bowed respectfully, and hastened away. In her hut, she searched the basket that held Cam Lan's few garments. It did not seem right to take from her, merely so a criminal and a murderer did not have to go naked, but she remembered Thanh's words about purchasing something new for her. Titi wondered if, once she was herself trained as a soldier, she would receive payment. It would be nice to buy pretty things for Cam Lan. The older girl had so little pleasure in her life, and Titi did love her, however dishonored she was.

_MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM_

Lieutenant Khoi was nine years older than Titi. He was a little more than average height, muscular and very handsome. He had a strong courageous face, beautiful onyx eyes, smooth dark lips and caramel skin. He was one of the few men of whom Bian spoke highly. She considered him intelligent, gifted and courageous. Titi knew nothing more about him, except that he treated Cam Lan like a woman of the village (which in all practicality meant that he largely ignored her), instead of as a slave (as too many of the soldiers did). For that courtesy alone she was prepared to like him.

He was waiting behind the bunker when Titi arrived with Cam Lan's smock in hand. He stood ten feet from the stake, studying the prisoner mildly. Clad in black fatigues, he had a bulky canvas pack strapped to his back, and an M-1 rifle in his hands. Nearby, three privates, all about Bian's age, were talking quietly. They were similarly armed and laden, though the looks they shot the American were very different from Khoi's. They looked far more eager, as if they could scarcely wait to do the stranger further injury.

The lieutenant saw Titi and motioned that she should stand near him. She approached, unsure of what was expected of her.

"I am told you are to be instructed in English," he said.

Titi inclined her head.

Khoi regarded her thoughtfully. "Do you have a rank?" he asked.

"I… I do not think so," faltered Titi. Major Quon had explained so little. Their meals together since the capture of the Air Pirate had not been the usual private affairs. With both Thanh and Bian present, there had been much talk of politics, which Titi understood, and combat tactics, which she did not. She had had no opportunity to ask about he details of her new position.

"How shall I address you?" Khoi inquired.

"Titi," she replied. "It is only Titi."

"Have you no surname?"

She shook her head. "Only Titi," she repeated.

"Very well," Khoi said. "Titi. In Vietnam, we say Air Pirate." He pointed at the prisoner. "In America it is _Air Pirate_."

Titi repeated the alien syllables awkwardly.

It was obvious that their meaning was understood by the restrained man, for his eyes opened a little and he murmured something. Khoi strode forward and grabbed his arm, pulling against the dislocated shoulder and broken collarbone. The prisoner screamed involuntarily as Khoi shook him. The lieutenant spoke sharply, and then gripped the rope bound to the iron collar and smacked the Air Pirate with an open palm. Titi flinched. Such blows were used only on errant children and disrespectful women. For one man to strike another in that way was as debasing and humiliating an act as spitting in one's face.

Khoi let the captive fall on his right side, and he cried out again, feebly, as his temple struck the ground. Khoi aimed his sandaled foot carefully so that it struck the broad bruise on the prisoner's pelvis. Then he drew back.

"What did he say?" Titi queried softly.

"His name and his rank," Khoi replied scornfully. "Again. He wishes to be treated as a prisoner of war. Fool." He spat upon the ground.

Before Titi could ask why he was not a prisoner of war, since he had been captured while engaged in battle as part of the war between North and South, Thanh came around the corner of the bunker. She too was ready for the trail, carrying one pack upon her back and another in her arms. The latter she gave to Titi. It was heavy, and the girl almost dropped it. She slung it onto her shoulders with care, feeling it settle against the small of her back.

With a nod of approval, the scarred guerilla took a slender knife from a sheath strapped to her left arm. She cut the knot affixed to the post, leaving the rope long, like the lead of an animal. Then, with her foot, she rolled the American onto his stomach. He fought the scream this time, so that it came out as a long, protracted moan. Thanh bent and severed the rope binding his wrists. She motioned to Khoi, who knelt with one knee on the prisoner's back. He planted one hand against the man's neck and the other midway down his ribcage. Thanh seized the captive's left wrist. Planting her foot in his armpit, she dragged on the limb, thrusting her whole weight into the act of pulling. The American cried out in anguish and terror as his shoulder popped back into its socket. Thanh let his hand drop to earth, and strode around while Khoi sprung over him, reversing the previous position. This time, however, the knee was applied with greater force, and Khoi gripped the prisoner's shoulder blade and the outside of his collarbone, shoulderward from the break. As Thanh took up the right wrist, the man began to struggle. This only brought Khoi's left knee down upon the nape of his neck. Both the Viet Cong soldiers pulled, each in the opposite direction, and that arm too returned to its normal conformation. Thanh sat the captive up and then stood back.

The Air Pirate was ashen, uncontrollable tears of agony streaming down his swollen face. With his arms where they belonged, his aspect was not so nauseating as it had been, though still Titi could not look at the collarbone. It was now more crooked than ever, and the bruised skin around it was pulled taught, shining with sweat.

"Give him his clothing and let him put it on," Thanh said, wiping her hands on her tunic.

Titi stepped forward and thrust the smock into the captive's lap. He stared stupidly at it, his left hand clutching his right arm to his chest. Titi felt a rush of scorn. She had heard that Americans were savages, but was this man such a barbarian that he had no wish to hide his nakedness?

Khoi spoke to him sternly, as Bian came around the building. She took in the scene and anger flashed in her dark eyes as she approached Thanh.

"His arms!" she said sharply. "You have fixed them. They were not to be set until he talked!"

"Even an Air Pirate cannot be expected to march in such a condition," Thanh said practically. "I have no wish to carry him to Hanoi. If I desire to question him, they are easy enough to pull out again."

"He deserves no mercy!" Bian snarled.

"I show him none," Thanh rejoined. "As I have said, I have no desire to carry him. Therefore, he must walk."

"See that you do not lose sight of your duty," Bian warned, suspicion grooving her lips. "I have eyes enough in your party to know if you do, and you shall rue it."

Thanh fingered her marred face again. She was about to respond when there was a roiling, retching sound. Making none of the usual civilized efforts to cover his mouth or turn his head, the prisoner vomited. A pink, soupy mixture of rice, acid, ginger-water and blood spilled from his mouth, cascading over his chin to the collar, his chest, and his lap. Titi stood, transfixed with disgust, as the mess continued to expel itself all over the prisoner's legs and the smock in his lap. Her stomach churned, rebelling at this loathsome sight and the sickly stench of half-digested starch that filled the air.

The others were watching, also. The privates seemed to find it a source of amusement. Lieutenant Khoi seemed neither surprised nor phased. Bian's lip curled: clearly she had expected no better of the criminal. Thanh cursed in frustration.

"Fool!" she snapped, and then strode away.

The man was coughing and trying with all his might not to. Titi could not imagine the pain he must now be suffering.

Bian turned to her. "Always remember that he is a criminal," the guerilla said, firmly but quietly. "He has dropped bombs on villages. On schools and hospitals. He has poured napalm upon the jungle. He killed Giang."

"Not him," Titi said. It could not be so. Me Dè had been killed by ground troops, not a pilot. "He did not kill her."

"He is an American. They are all the same," said Bian with conviction. "Never forget that."

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM 

Presently Thanh returned with a bucket of water, which she used to douse the prisoner and wash away the worst of the filth. Then Bian dressed him with rough and expert hands. His arms they bound behind his back, wrists to elbows. Then it was time to depart. Titi accepted a kiss from Major Quon. He had a gift for her also: the 'forty-five pistol that Titi had fired on the hellish night of the Battle of Ap Bac. Tucking it into the waistband of her trousers now, she realized that she was truly set upon the path of the warrior. Cam Lan was watching from a cautious distance, obviously hoping to remain unnoticed. Titi tried not to see the sorrow in the young woman's eyes.

When the farewells were said, Khoi led the way into the jungle, Thanh following close behind, leading the stumbling captive by the rope bound to the collar. Titi followed her, and the three other men formed a rearguard.

For the first hour they moved through territory that Titi knew well. They passed the rice paddies, where the peasants paused in their work to jeer at the Air Pirate. Then they moved into the denser jungle, and finally Titi no longer recognized the trails. Her pack grew heavier with each step, and the trees grew blurry. She wondered when her lessons in language and warfare were to begin. Quickly boring of travel, she watched the prisoner instead.

The American had no stamina. He swayed unsteadily, tripping over stones and roots. His bare feet were quickly battered by the rough trail, and soon he was leaving tracks of blood in the mulch. His staggering grew worse. They had been walking perhaps two hours when he fell for the first time.

He did not seem to trip over anything in particular. Rather, it was as if his legs gave out spontaneously from under him. He tumbled to the ground. With his arms bound behind his back, he could not catch himself, and his face smashed into the dead leaves and foliage. A muffled cry of torment escaped him. Thanh stopped, yanking on the cord affixed to his neck, and ordering him sternly, in French and in Vietnamese, to get to his feet. Khoi added admonitions in English, occasionally pausing to translate for Titi, who made an attempt to echo the sentiments. Somehow, the Air Pirate managed to totter to his feet, and he continued his unsteady march.

It was not long before he fell again. This time Thanh had to haul on the rope so hard that he began to gag before he made any attempt to force his knees under his chest. When at last he was upright, he rocked so that Titi was certain he would tumble. Yet somehow he managed to walk again.

By this time the afternoon shadows were lengthening around them, and Khoi increased his pace. This swiftly proved too much for the captive, and again he went down. This time when Thanh pulled on the rope, he merely hung passively, making choking sounds. Titi was not sure quite how it happened, but suddenly her foot darted out and struck his stomach. Horrified at her own action, she jumped backwards, but it was too late to undo what had been done. Following her example, the other young soldiers began to kick at him also. The American curled into a ball of anguish, trying to evade the blows. A thin froth of blood appeared on his lips.

"Stop!" Thanh ordered severely, backhanding Private Trieu when he was slow to obey. "Stop, that is enough. We will rest for a minute."

"Rest?" the affronted soldier snapped. "For the criminal?"

"For the schoolteacher," Thanh countered. "It is Titi's first day on the trail. We must break her in slowly."

To prove her words, she and Khoi forced the American to his feet, tying the lead to a tree branch over his head. He could not let his legs fall from under him now, or he would hang himself.

The travelers sat in a circle, and Thanh brought out bannock and a canteen. While they ate, Khoi taught Titi new English phrases.

"_This is bread_," he told her. "_This is water_." She also learned _jungle_, _trees_, _prisoner_ and _gun_.

The captive was very pale despite the sunburn. He seemed scarcely conscious. When Thanh untied the tether and their small party resumed its journey, Titi watched in concern as the man's face grew ever grayer. His whole body was trembling now, and his bleeding feet moved erratically. He fell again, and could scarcely clamber back up; and again, he had to be dragged to his feet; and yet again, and this time Khoi had to hoist him back up and force him through the first dozen steps or so. The night was near at hand when Titi noticed his eyes, scarcely visible through the narrow gaps in his swollen sockets, roll back into his head as he fell for the last time.

Thanh tugged and Khoi shouted, the young men kicked, and Titi prayed, but the prisoner did not move. He was quite unconscious at last.

Khoi and the private called Diep carried the Air Pirate to a place of dense cover. The rope was bound to the trunk of an ash tree. Some distance from the miserable figure, the others set up their camp. Titi ate ravenously of the travel bread and dried beef and then lay down. She had a camp blanket, one of many useful things in the pack Thanh had prepared for her. This kept out the winter chill. Pillowing her head on a tree root, she was soon asleep.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM 

In the middle of the night she awoke to the shrieking of a fish owl. The last sliver of the waning moon hung overhead. By its dim light she could make out a dark figure sitting watch over the camp, holding a solitary vigil against tigers and other nocturnal dangers. As she stared at it, still half asleep, the glow of a match illuminated the handsome features of Lieutenant Khoi. He lit his cigarette, and then doused the light.

Titi was still weary from the day's march, and lulled by the cicadas she soon drifted back towards unconsciousness. As she did so, she thought she heard another sound, low and timorous with pain and terror.

It seemed to her that the Air Pirate was weeping.


	9. Blind

**December 11, 1966**

Titi was awakened by the rising sun. Diep and Trieu were building a fire, but Cadeo was nowhere to be seen. Thanh and Khoi were squatted over the prisoner, conferring in low voices. Titi sat up and rubbed her eyes. There was a bitter chill in the air. She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders, drew her thighs against her chest, and rested her chin on her knees.

"It is no good," Thanh was saying. "He will lose the arms if he continues like this."

"Let him lose them," Khoi said coolly. "Better that than he should escape."

"He will not escape," Thanh said firmly. "We will bind them in front today."

Khoi muttered a complaint that Titi could not hear. Thanh retorted with a chill in her voice. "You are the guide, but he is my captive. We shall do as I see fit."

As she was loosing the prisoner's bonds, Cadeo returned, having filled a small iron cooking pot with water. Rice was boiled, and the travellers ate. Thanh induced the Air Pirate to take some food and a little water. This time he did not vomit it up again—but, of course, today he did not have his joints reset shortly after the meal, either.

After they had eaten, the guerrillas doused the fire carefully and obscured their camp before setting out again. Titi discovered that she was stiff from the previous day, and walking soon became an onerous task. She found herself lagging behind. At first she walked with Khoi, who today was leading the prisoner while Thanh led the way through woods she knew well. While they walked, the lieutenant made Titi practice English phrases. Soon, however, she found herself in step with Trieu at the rear of the party. Struggling to keep pace with the others, Titi reflected that at least she was not the only one having difficulty.

The prisoner's every step was hard-won and more feeble than the last. He fell repeatedly, struggling back onto his bruised and bleeding feet again and again. His hands were bound before him as Thanh had promised, the wrists crossed. When his arms were straight, his fingers were turned outwards from his body, but he had not kept that position. He was clutching the breast of the ragged smock with his left hand, keeping both arms bent. This pressed his right hand and forearm firmly against his chest. He demonstrated many times that he would sooner land face-first in the dirt than abandon this pose. He kept his arms glued to his ribs, though he fell again and again, and after observing his movements for a couple of hours, Titi realized that his strange position must be bringing substantial relief to his broken collarbone. His lips were dry and cracking, and even breathing seemed to require great effort. The sun had just passed its zenith, and he had fallen already twenty-three times that day, when he walked into a tree.

The jungle was dense here, and so it was perhaps not surprising that he did so. Still, Titi could not help but laugh when it happened. One moment he was struggling to trot after Khoi, a strangely unbalanced figure with his arms crossed high over his chest. The next, there was a loud _crack!_ that resounded through the understory, and the American fell backward. He landed hard upon his tailbone, his feet splaying like those of an upended child. The unexpected jerking on the lead tore it from Khoi's hand and he was loose—but too dazed to monopolize upon this lack of restraint. He sat there, hand still desperately clutching his garment, thunderstruck and disoriented.

He looked so comical with that fools' expression on his bruised face that Titi began to giggle. Cadeo and Diep joined in. Trieu, who had been walking ahead with Thanh, turned to see what had happened. Though he had not witnessed the collision, the slack-jawed, stunned look that the captive wore was adequate to make the other private laugh as well.

Khoi whirled, anger carving crevices into his handsome face. He bent to strike the captive, who tumbled into the dead leaves with a bewildered whimper. The lieutenant kicked his ribs and retrieved the line, hauling on it wrathfully to cover the fact that he had blundered and released it in the first place.

Thanh came striding back. "What is it?" she asked.

Titi explained, her amusement dampened by the hoarse cry that caught in the Air Pirate's throat as Khoi kicked him again, cursing at him in the American language. As Titi finished the account, she thought she saw a flicker of amusement in her sister's eye. Thanh reined it in carefully, however, and bent to drag the American back onto his battered feet.

They had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile more when it happened again. There was a loud impact, and down went the prisoner. Khoi had a much firmer grip on the rope now, and he was jerked backwards as the other man fell. This time, Titi had no opportunity to laugh. Khoi slapped the prisoner soundly, and then took the M-1 from his back and began to beat the bound man with the butt. The soldier was angry, his frustration mounting. More than two dozen times now the Air Pirate had fallen, and twice he had wandered into a tree. It was clearly unacceptable, and Khoi was obviously weary of it.

The wretch tried to scrabble away from the blows, in his desperation even releasing his hold on the smock to try to shield his head. Finally, he lay still, shuddering pathetically and accepting the assault. The lack of resistance cooled Khoi's temper, and he forced the criminal to his feet again.

He was stumbling worse than ever, and blood trickled through the thickly packed scabs occluding his nostrils. It must have been dripping down the back of his throat, too, for he would periodically cough in a wet and strangulated way. His whole body was quaking, and it was not even five minutes before he walked again, head first, into the bole of a nearby tree. This time, Khoi whirled upon him almost before he landed, and the fire in his beautiful black eyes made Titi step back in fright.

"Accursed American!" Khoi shouted, casting his eyes and hands towards heaven.

He reared to strike the prisoner. The American yelped in anguish as the rifle butt found a home in his back. Khoi struck again.

"Bian is right!" he cried as he beat him. "Scum! Worthless wretch!"

Shocked by the sudden tantrum, Titi stared helplessly as Khoi aggravation passed its breaking point and he continued to attack the bound man, shouting as he did so.

"Tripping and falling I could understand! But to walk into a tree? Is he blind?"

"Stop!" Thanh said sharply, staying his hand by grabbing the stock of the M-1. Khoi pulled back, tearing the weapon from her grasp, and stood, panting, perspiration beading on his forehead as he fought to control his choler.

Thanh used her foot to roll the prisoner onto his back. With her thumb, the guerilla tried to force the captive's left eye open. The socket was so swollen and bruised that this could not be done. Thanh tried the right, but it, too, was inflamed beyond such manipulation. She looked up at Khoi. "He is," she observed levelly.

Khoi cursed loudly. "We will have to carry him."

"No," Thanh said, returning the weapon to her back. "No. He will walk."

"He cannot see!" Khoi snapped. "What choice to we have?"

"Drag him," suggested Diep.

Thanh made a disgusted noise deep in her throat. "He will walk," she repeated stubbornly, slapping the captive's cheek to gauge his consciousness. He flinched and moaned. "Hold his head, Titi," Thanh instructed.

Titi squatted, planting one hand firmly on each of the prisoner's ears. His hair was greasy, stiff with dirt and blood. She gritted her teeth in revulsion.

"Hold tight," Thanh said as she unsheathed her knife. She placed her left hand firmly on the captive's face. Titi watched in horrified wonder as, very carefully, Thanh slit the skin under the captive's eye. The American cried out and tried to struggle, but he could not. The moment he moved, Cadeo dropped to kneel on the man's ankles, and Khoi seized the bound hands to render resistance impossible. The flesh spit beneath Thanh's blade, and the dark blood oozed out. It stained the Air Pirate's face and ran over Titi's fingers. Thanh cut just below the eyebrow, too, and then repeated the process on the other side. Then she cut a scrap of cloth from the hem of the smock that had belonged to Cam Lan. She used it to wipe away some of the freely flowing blood.

"The blind man can see again," she remarked, passing the rag to Titi as she rose. "Do not let them scab closed. We will take our rest now and continue when the blood has had a chance to drain."

"We cannot waste time waiting for him!" Khoi argued.

"We will lose more time halting constantly to pick him up," Thanh countered, grim annoyance in her voice. "We will wait and eat. Titi!" she said sharply. "Do not let the eyes scab over!"

Ashamed of her negligence, Titi used the rag to wipe the blood away. Thanh moved to sit on a tree root. Khoi kicked the captive's side and strode away, his resentment obvious. Kneeling by the prisoner's head, Titi bade Diep bring her a canteen of water. She drank from the tepid fluid herself, and then lifted the captive's head and held the bottle to his lips. Despite his hiss of pain as she moved him, the man drank greedily. When she took away the vessel, he cursed at her, his voice strengthened by the liquid. She knew she ought to slap him, but he was so weak and wretched that she could not bear to do it. Instead, she wetted the cloth, using it to greater effect as she washed away some of the blood and grime from his eyes. The swelling was indeed retracting a little: that of it, at least, that had been due to the bruising. Licking her lips, which were suddenly dry, Titi decided to try her English.

"_You open eyes_," she said. The captive did not comply. Concerned that she had phrased the command incorrectly, Titi tried again. "_Open eyes_!"

This time he obeyed. It took him a minute to focus on her. His mouth twitched and he mumbled something. Titi hesitated, trying to make sense of the syllables. As the captive repeated himself, she realized that he was speaking clumsy Vietnamese.

"Water, please water," he said.

"Too much water will make you ill," Titi told him.

His eyes closed again, and more blood oozed from the narrow cuts. It was running bright and thin, now. Titi wicked it away. The prisoner shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "_I don't understand Viet_," he mumbled.

Titi looked questioningly at Khoi, who had come silently back and was standing four feet from the captive, watching him with a predator's eye. Seeing her look, the lieutenant translated the American's words. Titi frowned.

"_No water: you make sick_," she tried.

His head jerked ever so slightly from side to side. "Please," he repeated in her language.

Khoi leaned forward over the Air Pirate. "So now you speak," he mused. Then he barked at the man, translating for Titi: "_Give targets for coming week!_"

"_Fuck you, Charlie_," mumbled the prisoner. Then he added, for good measure, "_Albert Calavicci. Lieutenant. B-933-852. 15 June, 1934._"

Titi looked helplessly at the lieutenant. "Now you ask him," he instructed.

Titi cleared her throat. "_Give target coming week_," she parroted.

The captive's voice was louder and more defiant now, as if he recognized Khoi's attempt to coerce him. "_Albert Calavicci! Lieutenant! B-933-852! 15 June, 1934_."

Titi knew what was expected. Without waiting to be told, she slapped his face. The blow fell with more force than she had intended, and his chin struck his broken collarbone. He screamed. Instinctively, Titi pressed her hand against his mouth to muffle the sound. She cried out as fire shot into her fingers and up her arm, jerking back in shock. She stared at her little brown palm, and the red marks in the web between finger and thumb where the man's teeth had clamped down on the tender flesh.

Khoi saw the blemishes, and uttered an oath. He kicked the Air Pirate with all the force in his leg. There was a hollow sound like a drumbeat as the sandaled foot knocked all of the air out of the American's lungs. Khoi raised his right foot and brought it down as hard as he could, stomping on the bound man's right shoulder. Titi could not fight the shriek of horror that burst from her lips as she scrambled away: the fracture stretched, and it seemed as if the broken bone would tear through the skin.

Robbed of wind, the prisoner could make no acknowledgement of his anguish. Khoi kicked him again, so violently that his body arced off of the ground. Thanh flew forward.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "I have told you that he is my prisoner!"

"Your prisoner?" Khoi snarled viciously. "Your prisoner? You bind his hands before him, you tend his swollen eyes, and how does he repay these favors? How?"

He swooped on Titi and seized her wrist. Her hand was pulled upwards and thrust under Thanh's nose. The girl herself was forced onto her knees. Khoi shook her arm, his wrath deafening him to her little cry of pain.

"You see?" he bellowed at Thanh. "You see what this scum has done in repayment of your leniency?

Thanh snatched Titi's hand and stared at it. She looked at Khoi, then at the Air Pirate. Releasing Titi, she grabbed the collar around the American's neck, hauling him into a sitting position and shaking him violently. To her furious exclamations in French, Khoi added his own chastisement in the Air Pirate's mother tongue, no longer pausing to translate his words. Thanh thrust the man forward so that he was bent in the middle, leaning over his extended legs. She snatched the AK-47 from her back, and she began, violently and methodically, to beat him.

Titi turned away, unable to watch and trying desperately not to listen.

_MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM_

An hour later, they were travelling again. The prisoners arms had been bound behind him once again, melded from wrists to elbows, hands already purpling. The good that had been done by cutting his eyes had been undone by the punishment for his recalcitrance and the attack on Titi. One ear was bleeding, and it was plain that he could see nothing. Thanh held the rope scarcely three finger-breadths from the knot affixing it to his collar, ensuring that, though blind, he would no longer walk into any trees. This kept him doubled up, but it was likely he would have been in that position anyhow, from pain alone. His steps were stilted, and he would shake periodically with dry heaves, having long ago brought up the water he had been given. Thanh had yanked his left arm out of its socket again, and as he moved, the dislocated shoulder wobbled in what looked like a very painful manner.

Titi tried not to watch his excruciating progress. She was exhausted, and starting to feel very ill. There was a blood blister on her hand where the Air Pirate had bitten her, and her feet were sore from the unaccustomed marching. To make matters worse, the wind was growing cold, and the sturdy cotton of her black fatigues seemed insufficient to protect her. She wished that Bian were here. Bian, at least, would have cared about her discomfort and made some attempt to raise her spirits.

She was falling farther and farther behind, struggling to keep up but unable to overcome the tired ache in her legs or the weight of the pack on her back. She was beginning to see why Cam Lan accepted a life of shame and enforced toil rather than serve as a soldier. Apart from any reluctance to kill or be killed, there were the miseries of the trail. After only two days, Titi had already experienced most of them. There was the boredom of a long and tedious march, the weariness, the aches. The cold, the mosquitoes, and since the incident with the captive had robbed Titi of any appetite during their brief halt, there was the hunger, too. She was weary and disheartened, and she wished with all her heart that she was back at home in Ap Hiep, teaching the little ones to read.

Khoi looked back over his shoulder, his eyes halting briefly on the prisoner, glittering with hatred. Then he saw Titi, now a dozen yards behind. He spoke to Cadeo softly, and the private nodded. Then the lieutenant fell back towards the rear of the party. Titi began to shiver with fear. He was coming to upbraid her for being so slow.

To her surprise, he reached out for her hand. She responded instinctively, and he drew her towards him, wrapping his other arm around her shoulder. His expression was gentle.

"You are tired," he said softly.

She nodded mutely. She was afraid to speak, lest her discouragement should show in her voice. She did not want to be thought of as a weak and complaining woman. She wanted to be strong and tireless, like Thanh and Bian.

"I am not surprised," Khoi told her as they walked. The support of his arm and the warmth of his body allowed Titi to pick up her pace a little. "This is nothing like the work you are accustomed to."

He reached for her other hand, the one the Air Pirate had bitten. He curled his fingers around it, and used his thumb to open her palm. He brushed the blister gently. "The scum," he said. "To hurt the one who gave him water."

"I do not think he meant to," Titi confessed. "He was in terrible pain. He did not know what he was doing."

Khoi raised her hand to his lips and kissed the injury. The unexpected contact made Titi shiver. The man did not seem to notice. "Bian has told me of your kind heart," he said. "Would you forgive anyone, even this stinking criminal?"

"He did not mean to do it," Titi repeated.

"And did he not mean to bomb our villages and murder our children?" Khoi asked. Strangely, there was no rancor in his voice. It was low and melodious, and his attention seemed focused on Titi, not on thoughts of the captive at all.

"I… I do not know," Titi said. "Was he not following his orders?" All good soldiers had to follow their orders. Indeed, obedience was the greatest of virtues.

"Orders?" Khoi laughed. "No, little Titi. Warriors follow orders. Criminals murder and pillage. The Air Pirate is not a soldier."

"He is not?"

"No. Look at how he cringes, moving like an animal, bent and quivering. He is not a man. He is not a soldier. He is nothing but a worthless delinquent. Scum."

It seemed to Titi that he was bent and quivering because his back and ribs had been beaten with a rifle, and that he cringed because he was afraid of being hurt again, but she did not dare to say that. It was obviously not what the lieutenant believed, and if he did not, then surely Bian and Major Quon did not, either. If it was not true for them, then it must not be true at all. Titi must be mistaken, for she was young and did not understand the world as her elders did.

"How far is it to Hanoi?" she asked softly, unable to keep an edge of despair from her voice.

Khoi reached to stroke her cheek. "Many days yet, little one," he said, almost regretfully. "When we halt again, we will see what can be done to lighten your pack," he promised. "Tomorrow night we will reach a village I know well. There we can sleep indoors for a night. You will like that, will you not?"

"Yes," Titi whispered automatically as the Air Pirate fell again. She flinched as Thanh kicked his ribs and he began to retch fruitlessly again. Khoi's encouraging embrace tightened a little as they continued through the jungle.


	10. The Young Heart

December 13, 1966 

They left Ap Iat in the predawn darkness, well-rested and well-fed. The village was small, populated almost exclusively by children, their young mothers, and those too old to b e of any use to the war effort. Despite this and the obvious poverty of the tiny community, the small band of guerrillas were greeted generously. An old pullet was slaughtered in their honor, supplementing the good brown rice and the hot tea that was served to the soldiers. The villagers housed them all gladly, too, providing pallets of woven reeds to sleep upon, shelter in the little huts, and even hot water and kettle-made lye soap for washing.

Rested and feeling far better than she had in many days, Titi set out happily, applying herself to the language lessons. She walked ahead with her teacher, which also meant that she did not need to witness the prisoner's pathetic attempts to keep pace with his captors. He had passed the night in a tiger cage at the edge of the village—a remnant of the days when the men had hunted the great cats, before the bombings, before the war and before the French had come to tear the nation of Vietnam apart.

As in Ap Hiep, the villagers had seized upon the opportunity to exact some small measure of revenge from the helpless American. Thanh had not allowed an unrestrained beating, for the man was scarcely able to walk as it was, but once he was secured in the little bamboo crate she had let the peasants do as they pleased. The Air Pirate was now covered in small cuts and punctures where sharpened bamboo had prodded him. The smock he wore was laced with holes from the same. When Thanh had hauled him out of the cage this morning, his face had been smeared with dung, his hair matted with offal. The guerrillas had loosed his hands and allowed him to wash in the creek. To deny this small dignity would have meant suffering his stink, and though Khoi argued that the downed pilot was unworthy of any such kindness Thanh had had her way in the end.

It had fallen to Titi to stand watch, holding the lead rope while the prisoner crouched in the mud and tried to wash. Between his dislocated shoulder and the broken collarbone he could scarcely move his arms, but as best he could he cleaned himself, then drank loudly and frantically from cupped and trembling hands. He had next groped blindly about until he found a sharp rock, and with it tried futilely to scrape away some of the pus and filth that clung to his mangled feet. Titi had watched, sickened but entranced, as he flinched, and stifled whimpers of pain, and still persisted, doing what he had to in order to fight infection and blood poisoning.

Her mind was in turmoil. She knew he was an American, a justly hated barbarian from across the sea who was paid to fly the swift, shrieking planes that rained down terror and carnage upon the innocent. He was a slave of the capitalist monsters of the den of corruption called _Walstreet_, and he hated Titi and her people without cause. He and all like him deserved whatever torments and ignominies could be dealt out, and yet…

Titi dared to glance over her shoulder at the craven figure, hideous and misshapen, clad in rags and streaked all over with blood and grime despite his makeshift bath scant hours ago. Still he fought to hide his anguish. Still he set one ruined foot ahead of the other. Still he did not cry out. He was an American, a criminal, an Air Pirate, and yet he was a man, too. And so brave. He was all but silent as he bore his pain with fortitude such as Titi had never seen. She doubted very much that she would be able to muster similar courage in such circumstances. His eyes were an alien shape, and his skin, beneath the filth, was inhumanly pale, and yet he had two harms, two legs like Titi. His blood was the same color as hers, as Major Quon's, as that of the little children that she had taught not so long ago, and missed sorely now. The Air Pirate seemed so weak and so wounded. It was hard to remember that he _was _a criminal, a murderer who deserved every moment of this suffering.

And yet he was, and he did, and Titi knew that she must never forget that. She knew that even thoughts of mercy were wicked. It was wrong to want to return the loose shoulder to its socket, or set the broken collarbone. It would be a crime to bathe his feet and find sandals to protect them from further harm. It would be evil to unbind him and allow him to rest. Titi was filled with terror when she thought how Bian or Major Quon would react, if they knew of her thoughts of pity for the American.

Instead, she filled her mind with visions of the horrors of war. Me Dè dead in the midnight jungle. Valiant Major Quon blinded by shrapnel from an enemy shell. Cam Lan disgraced, and Thanh disfigured. Razed villages, rice paddies bombed into barrenness, one-armed children, old men robbed of their legs by American mines, broad expanses of jungle left black and ruined by the unseen menace called _napalm_. She filled her mind with these, contrasting them to the peace of her girlhood, and she felt the stirrings of hatred again.

It comforted her. It was right. It was what was expected of her.

Khoi spoke in English again, and Titi forced herself to focus. "I did not hear that," she admitted.

Khoi repeated himself. Titi frowned and tried to translate.

"You have," she said cautiously. "You have… something… eyes…"

"_Beautiful_," Khoi said. "It means lovely. Becoming. Desirable."

Titi felt herself growing warm, her cheeks suffusing with embarrassed pleasure. He found her eyes desirable? No man had ever said such a thing to her. Why should they? She was but a girl, a school teacher, neither as beautiful, nor as bold, nor as brave as Bian. Her breasts were so small, her hips so narrow, her legs so thin. Her hair, though dark and smooth, was not long. Her lips, though full, were pale. And yet this grown man, a mighty soldier, a lieutenant, found her eyes desirable…

"Thank you," she said. Then she corrected herself, repeating it in the American tongue.

Khoi smiled. "_You are welcome_," he said.

"Where?" Titi asked.

Khoi laughed. "It is an American expression," he said. "It means that I accept your thanks, and I am glad I gave you cause to thank me."

"Oh," Titi said softly. "They have many strange expressions in America."

"Yes, many," Khoi agreed, offering Titi his hand as they scrambled over a fallen log. There was a minor commotion as Thanh and Cadeo tried to induce the American to follow. As Titi turned to look, Khoi took her chin between finger and thumb and guided her face back towards him. "You feel sorry for the Air Pirate," he murmured.

Stunned and frightened, Titi could only stare at him. Khoi smiled indulgently. "Do not be ashamed," he told her. "Bian has told me of your kind heart. You would feel pity for any dumb animal." He turned his head to spit the word scornfully in the direction of the prisoner. "So long as you do not allow emotion to cloud your judgement, it is not an unattractive trait. We need our women to be brave and strong. We do not need them to surrender their hearts."

Titi dared to smile in return. "He is a criminal," she said.

"And that is why we show him no mercy," Khoi agreed. "That does not mean that it is wrong for you to be human simply because he is not."

"Yes," breathed Titi as a muted scream tore from the prisoner's lips. She flinched.

The American cried out again as Thanh tried to force him to his feet. He spoke, his cracking, hoarse voice thick with desperation. Titi could only catch a few words. "_Please! You… me… this…_"

Khoi knelt by him, grabbing the collar and shaking him. "_Give targets for coming week_!!" he commanded.

The Air Pirate swallowed spastically. He repeated himself more slowly. "_My arm. Please. Dear God, you can't leave me like this…_"

Anxious to prove that she was neither weak nor overly soft-hearted, Titi pulled the 'forty-five from her waistband and crouched, holding it before the prisoner's head. "_Answer question_," she said. "_Or I shoot you_."

The captive shivered in despair. "_Yes, shoot me! Shoot me, but don't leave me like this!_"

Khoi laughed coldly. "_You are black criminal,_" he said. "_You not suffer enough_."

"_Please!_" the man cried, turning his head blindly towards Titi. His swollen eyelids were wet with involuntary tears of sheer anguish. "_Please, shoot me or fix my shoulder. Please!_"

Thanh kicked the small of his back, and he fell forward with a tiny cry. "_Vous ne parlez pas!_" she snapped. "_Marchez!_"

The battered chest heaved with the effort of speaking. "_God dammit, I'm a prisoner of—"_

"You are not a prisoner of war!" Khoi roared, in his rage slipping back into his mother tongue.

"_You are not prisoner of war_," Titi said. She knew these words well. It seemed that sooner or later any interaction with the captive came to this point. She waved the gun in what she hoped very much was a threatening manner. "_You country not declare war on my country. You come, drop bomb, kill children—_"

"_I'm a soldier! We follow orders. We fight. You think I give a damned about your damned jungle? You think this is personal, Charlie? Damn it…_" He choked a little on what Titi thought might have been a sob, shaking his head wretchedly. _"It hurts_," he whispered plaintively. "_It hurts._"

Titi looked at Thanh, who was watching the prisoner with intense scrutiny. "Can we not fix it now?" the younger girl asked softly. "My hand has almost healed."

Thanh looked at her, eyes flashing despite the disfigurement of the left socket. "He has earned the pain," she said.

"He cannot walk much farther like this," Titi reasoned. "Unless we mean to carry him."

As she had hoped, these words had meaning for the guerrilla. Thanh frowned, and then bent to untie the ropes holding the captive's hands behind his back. He swallowed a scream as the limbs fell forward and disused muscles protested. Titi looked away as Thanh buried her sandaled foot in the man's armpit and hauled on his wrist. There was a sickening _pop!_ and a bloodcurdling shriek. A drove of black birds rose from the trees, flying away to the east. Next came the noise of fruitless retching.

"Now he will walk," Thanh said coldly, twitching the rope affixed to the iron collar.

The next hours passed without incident, unless one counted the frequent falls that were by now part of the rhythm of their march. No matter what, the Air Pirate would lose his footing. At least he made no further attempts to beg for favors.

Khoi was silent again, scowling blackly. Titi knew that he did not approve of any leniency. In his eyes, the prisoner deserved his pain, and perhaps he did. Titi tried to rationalize her weakness by reminding herself that surely he would never have lasted much longer in such torment.

When at last the sun set and they halted to make camp, Khoi wandered off into the gloom. Titi cooked rice upon a small fire, and she and Thanh and the three privates ate. What was left Trieu wadded into a ball and set on the ground within the American's reach. He picked it up and devoured it desperately. Though he made retching sounds, and his abdomen heaved, he did not bring the food up again.

It was Titi's turn to take the first watch, and Khoi had still not returned when the others lay down to sleep. Titi sat by the embers of the dying fire, her blanket around her shoulders. Above, she could see a star glimmering through the gaps in the canopy. She wished she were at home, with Cam Lan. The night was cold, the dark jungle frightening, and her heart bewildered and hurting. She wished she could lie next to her sister, warm and safe in the little hootch, and feel Cam Lan's calm, gentle breathing as she fell asleep. She felt lonely and frightened and so isolated. She had only the cold night for company: the ragged gasps of the Air Pirate, the soft snores of the young men, and the distant scream of a fish owl.

A strong hand closed over her mouth. Hot air on her back made her stiffen. Lips brushed her ear.

"Come with me," Khoi whispered.

Titi got to her feet and let him lead her from the small encampment. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt a pang of guilt for leaving her post, but the arms around her were assured and consoling.

Khoi halted, and was now lifting her out of her sandals. Her bare feet were set down amid the soft fronds of a low-growing fern.

"You are very beautiful, Titi," Khoi said. His fingers were working deftly at the fastenings of her tunic. Titi felt a thrill of fear and something else… pleasure? Yes, it was pleasure and anticipation. She felt her trousers fall, and she was lifted out of these, too, by the strong, hot hands. Khoi kissed her bare arm, and then her neck. "Very beautiful," he repeated. "A fine woman."

As he began to undo her breast-band, Titi realized what he wished to do. She was afraid, and yet she was not. She wanted to cry out, or run away, and yet she wanted him to continue.

Continue he did. The cloth fell away and he took her breast in one hand, feeling it with practiced sensuality. Her whole body responded, jolting against his. She found his lips and tasted them ravenously.

"Little Titi," Khoi said. "Bian has told me…"

She drew breath and pressed her mouth to his again. Her body was alive with passion, every nerve ignited with a strange fire. A memory tugged at some corner of her mind, and she guided him down among the ferns, lowering both of them to their knees. Then she lay back in the soft, sweet-smelling foliage. She gasped as he responded. Then there was pressure, and pain, and unbelievable pleasure. Khoi gasped loudly, grunting in surprise.

"A virgin?" he wondered aloud. "A virgin at sixteen?"

Titi could not answer, for there was a moment of agony deep within her, and then all-consuming glory swallowed her consciousness.


	11. Speaking American

**December 18, 1966**

The terrain was changing. They were leaving the highlands behind, and the jungle grew less dense as the miles passed by. Here there were wide stretches of open land that had to be cautiously skirted or else crossed under night's protective cover. Though a handful of natives clad in nondescript black would not seem suspicious from the air, their cargo would, Khoi said, betray them to American eyes. Under no circumstances would they lose _this_ prisoner. It was Major Quon's wrathful wish that the wretch reach Hanoi—and his just reward—alive.

In the flat land, the foliage was different. The bamboo grew thinner, and the trees were hardier. There was a strange look to the berry bushes, and the grasses were thick and coarse. The streams here were different, too. They flowed more slowly than those in the hills, and they were more turbid. There were broad standing pools, too, and shallow sloughs that it was easier to ford than to circumvent.

With such water came the bloodsuckers. Titi remembered leeches from her childhood in the marshy south. The black, gelatinous creatures would lurk in clouded waters, waiting for the passage of a careless leg to which they could adhere. As a little girl, Titi had known to avoid the water where leeches would hide. Now, she did not have that luxury. Her possessing desire to prove herself as hardy and stoic as the others rendered her just as helpless as the American when it came to choosing her own path through the wilds. She followed Khoi and Thanh wherever they walked, wading indiscriminately through shallow creeks and muddy ponds.

The guerillas seemed to accept the parasitic slugs as a matter of course. After each fording they would halt to roll up the legs of their trousers and flick off the feeding hemophages with a sharpened shaft of bamboo. At first, Titi could not bear to dispense this necessity. The sight of her slender brown calves marred by the bloating, glistening creatures turned her stomach, and she had to look away while Thanh removed them for her. After two days, though, she was beginning to grow acclimatized to it. She realized with some pride that she was becoming a soldier.

Another comfort was the prisoner's misery. Titi hated the leeches, and the way in which the places onto which they would latch itched, even after the bloodsuckers were removed, but at least she could get rid of the ones that attacked her legs. Such luxuries were not for criminals and enemies of the State.

The Air Pirate's calves and torn feet were covered in leeches. They were allowed to feed until satiated—then they would fall away on their own, leaving ulcerated sores that became first filthy, and then infected, weeping beads of pus down his bare legs. His limp was worsening, and each day Titi watched him struggle to his feet, wondering if he would last through the day. Yet, somehow, he always did, and as Thanh had prophesied, they did not have to carry him. Titi was beginning to believe that, injured and ill though he was, he would still manage to walk all the way to Hanoi.

Today, the rain was falling, and it was bitterly cold. Titi's clothes were soaked through, heavy and frigid on her body. She shivered as she walked, and her teeth clicked. It was not yet midday—which Titi knew because they had not yet halted for their plain camp meal; for the sun was hidden by thick gray clouds—and already she was weary. Though with each day the exhaustion was slower to take hold, she did not have the stamina needed for these grueling marches. Yet despite the physical discomfort, she was very happy today.

Khoi was giving her an English lesson as they trekked through the low growth of ferns and bushes. Today the language of politics was their topic, and Titi was drinking in Khoi's every word, watching his handsome face and beautiful body as best she could while still watching her path.

"_Capitalist beasts of Wall Street_," Khoi said, translating a favorite phrase of Quon's. "_Deceive American people. Murder peace-loving people of Vietnam_."

Titi repeated the foreign syllables carefully, stumbling over the sounds only when she lost her sandal to a root and had to pause in the rhythm of her march to retrieve it.

Khoi smiled. "_Very good, beautiful one,_" he said.

He always offered adulations in the American tongue. Titi wondered whether this was to give her a true sense of the language, or because this way Thanh could not understand him. Titi felt most honored that Khoi had such admiration for her form. There was a strange thrill to the secrecy of their nightly love-making, too, that was quite apart from the glory of the physical passion. It was mysterious, alluring and to her sixteen-year-old heart, utterly enchanting.

Khoi continued with the lesson. "_I am loyal to cause of Ho Chi Minh. I fight for a Free Vietnam."_

Titi tilted her head in what she hoped was an adorable manner. "_What is "cause", please_?" she asked, enunciating carefully as she tried to show off her English.

He chuckled and brushed his hand against her hip. Then he explained quickly, speaking in their mother tongue so that there would be no confusion. Then Titi tried to repeat the phrase. "_I loyal cause of Ho Chi Minh. I fight Free Vietnam_."

A hoarse, half-delirious laugh came through the rain. Khoi whirled around far more quickly that Titi could, burdened as she was with the heavy travel pack. By the time she had changed direction, the others were all staring at the prisoner.

He was a pathetic figure, his dirty smock limp and dripping rainwater, his bound hands clutching the cloth high upon his chest. His bruised face was smeared with blood and mud, and the skin was broken where the iron collar chaffed constantly against it. He was shaking violently, and his skin beneath the filth and contusions had the hideous pallor of salted fish. Yet his pain-clouded eyes were glinting strangely, and his unnaturally white teeth glowed between split and swollen lips that were only just capable of curling into a defiant and mocking smile.

Then he spoke, so quickly that Titi could not understand all of his words. His voice was hoarse and rasping, but clearly scornful. "_She doesn't have any idea what she's saying!_" he sneered at Khoi. "_She's just parroting you_."

Khoi glared angrily at him, obviously about to bite back, but the captive cast his dark eyes on Titi instead, speaking before the VC Lieutenant could collect his thoughts and translate them into English.

"_You want to be a communist puppet? Can't you even think for yourself?_" the prisoner taunted. "_He says something, and you repeat it—you don't even know what you're saying!_"

"_I learn American_," Titi argued. "_I say American_."

"_The hell you do!_" he spat, laughing with almost hysterical acrimony. "_All you can do is—is—is—"_ His breath caught in his throat and a spasm of agony twisted those portions of his face still capable of movement. "_All you can do… can do…_"

Khoi raised his fist to strike him, but Titi threw herself between the lieutenant and the Air Pirate. "No, stop!" she cried, grabbing the officer's arm.

His eyes went wide with surprise and horror. Thanh cried out in angry dismay. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

Titi realized with a sickening wrench of horror that she had made a horrible mistake. Acting impulsively, she had placed herself in the precise position she had wanted to avoid. She had given into the insidious voice that told her the Air Pirate was nothing but a man, hurt and frightened and far from home, who was trying his best to be brave and strong; the same struggle she faced every day. By letting such thoughts come to the surface, she had opposed Khoi, and so, implicitly, Quon and Bian as well. She had opened herself to ridicule and shame. She had betrayed everything that she had been taught.

Trying to salvage the situation, she met her lover's eyes boldly. "I must practice," she said, hoping that she sounded forceful and unforgiving, or at least pragmatic. "Let me speak to him."

Khoi's eyes narrowed, and he nodded curtly. "Very well. Speak to him and discipline him, but do both well."

Thanh stepped forward, twitching the line in her hand so that the prisoner's balance was upset and he stumbled a little. "He is my captive!" she snarled. "We shall do as I say!" She turned to Titi. "Speak to him, and discipline him!" she ordered, thrusting the lead into the younger girl's hand. She then gestured that the men should move away, leaving Titi standing alone with the American.

He was watching her. There was wariness in his eyes, but something else, too. Curiosity, she thought. He was wondering why this was happening. Surely his treatment since capture would have taught him to expect a swift and debilitating blow. Titi swallowed hard to steel her nerves, and seized the iron collar, pulling his face close to hers. She tilted her head to one side in the way that Major Quon did when he wished to look most domineering.

"_I speak American_," she said.

"_English_," he corrected through his teeth. The rain was running into his eyes, and he blinked to try to clear his vision. "_You speak English._"

"_English_," Titi repeated, forcing herself to sneer. "_You show disrespect. Very bad._"

"_Yeah, yeah, and I murder children and old women, too._" The words were forced through clenched teeth.

"_Confession!_" Khoi cried. "_You confess crimes!_"

The Air Pirate turned to look at him—far too quickly, for he hissed in agony as strain was placed on the broken collarbone. He spat disdainfully in the lieutenant's direction. Titi gasped, and tightened her grip on the collar.

"_Confess,_" she said. "_You kill. Black Air Pirate_."

"_Like hell, little girl,_" he said. "_What's a pretty thing like you doing Ho's dirty work for him, anyway?_"

Titi shook her head instinctively. She didn't understand.

"_Thought not,_" the captive croaked. "_My arm_," he said, slowly and clearly. "_Please_."

"_No_," Titi said. "_No arm. Confess_."

"_You even know what that means, or are you just repeating what Jerry Lee Lewis over there keeps saying_?" He tilted his chin towards Khoi, and his eyebrows twitched.

"_Jeril Ilu Iss?_" Titi echoed in confusion, looking at the others. Khoi was watching her intently. There was suspicion in Cadeo's eyes. Thanh was fingering her rifle butt. Titi turned back to the prisoner, even as he laughed again, the sound gurgling painfully in the back of his throat.

"_Never mind, kid,_" he said. "_Just tell that son of a bitch that he better enjoy it while it lasts, 'cause once we get wherever the hell you're taking m—_"

A gurgling cough morphed into a scream, and a pink froth appeared on his lips. He pitched forward against Titi's arm, shaking with pain. Then his legs quivered and collapsed beneath him. With a cry, Titi sprung backwards, releasing her hold on the collar. Her other hand still held the leash, though, and his descent was halted with a sharp jerk. The prisoner gagged loudly, shuddering frantically. Then suddenly he was limp, even as Titi let go. He landed in the mud with a heavy noise, like that of a carcass thrown to the ground. Then silence fell over the jungle.

Titi ran back towards Khoi. "He is dead!" she cried. "He is dead!"

Thanh strode forward and knelt next to the Air Pirate, rolling him roughly onto his back and pressing her fingers to his neck. "No," she said, and then she spat upon him.

"No?" Khoi echoed. His strong arms held Titi close, and she buried her face in the cloth of his tunic.

"He lives," Thanh said. She hooded her eyes with languid lids. "But he will soon wish for death." She knelt upon his right shoulder, and then planted her hand on his left. She threw her weight upon her arm, and the breach between the two halves of the broken collarbone widened.

Thanh got to her feet, wiping her hands fastidiously on the hem of her wet tunic. She gestured sharply at Diep and Cadeo.

"We will carry him," she said coldly.


	12. Growing Up

**December 18-21, 1966**

The rain was still cascading from empty quicksilver skies when the band of travelers halted for the night. There was no hope of a fire, and Lieutenant Khoi wanted to make camp before the last light fled. He and Trieu wandered into the underbrush, eyes open for mines or traps or any sign of recent enemy activity. Cadeo had snapped a sandal thong some hours past, and he sat down to mend it before sunset. Diep and Titi, seeing no need to hunt for groundwater while the sky-water was so abundant, laid out the two cooking pots to catch the rain.

Thanh tended to the prisoner. They had all taken it in turns to bear him upon a makeshift bier fashioned of two bamboo poles and a camp blanket. Titi alone had been exempt from this duty. Though not as tiny as Cam Lan she was a small girl, with neither Thanh's solid, stocky strength, nor Bian's tall, dramatic and almost masculine frame. Khoi had made it plain that she was not expected to carry the American, and no one had protested.

The Air Pirate had not yet regained consciousness, and his head now burned with fever. Though it was her wont to bind him to a tree so that he could not lie down, Thanh broke from custom tonight. She dragged him into the shelter of a dense thicket of furs, where the ground was not so wet and the thickly thatched fronds provided some shelter from the driving rain.

The six guerillas ate their bannock and gnawed at strips of salted pig. Diep struck up a rollicking song full of almost indecent sentiments, and the others joined in. Titi did not know the words, but Khoi took care that the next song was one with which she was familiar. By the fourth, darkness had fallen like a curtain around them. The muffled sounds of the rain gave the air an unusually dense quality, and the mood grew swiftly more subdued as the soldiers prepared for sleep.

As always, Titi kept close to Thanh. Tonight, the older girl did a strange thing. She stripped off all of her clothing and stretched out, naked, on the jungle floor. Titi was shocked and no small bit puzzled at this brazen behavior, but after nearly an hour of struggling to find comfort in her own sodden clothes and damp blanket, she began to see the logic behind Thanh's action. It was interesting, Titi thought as the rain continued to fall and sleep continued to elude her, that Thanh always chose practicality first. It came before shame. It came before modesty. It came before patriotism, and anger, and hatred. It even came before pride.

Soon the rain grew maddening, and Titi's frustration mounted quickly. She did not have to suffer for too long, however, for the second watch was Khoi's. As soon as Cadeo was safely asleep, Titi's lover came to her, and led her off to a safe place some distance away from the camp. There they made love with such fervor that when she returned to her place by her half-sister, the young soldier was too blissful and too drowsy to pay any mind to the rain.

_MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM_

Though Thanh slapped him and shook him, and even made small, shallow incisions behind his ears and on the soles of his feet and finally on the insides of his thighs, the prisoner would not awaken fully the next morning. He flinched and cried out, mewing like a runt kitten good for nothing but bait, and he once mumbled a string of incoherent words, but his eyes would not stay open and his muscles would not support his body. The fever still smoldered, and it was plain that he would not walk today, either.

The rain had ceased, and at noon they were able to light a small, if imprudently smoky, fire. The hot rice was good; an ample ballast for their chilled bellies. Thanh mashed some of the grains into a paste, and then added ginger root and water to dilute it into gruel. After several sharp slaps and a little manipulation of his dislocated shoulder, the Air Pirate seemed to gain some awareness. At least, when Thanh poured the concoction down his throat he swallowed, it, and more importantly he kept it down. Yet he could scarcely lift his head, and still had to be carried.

That night, Titi could hear him talking in his sleep. He repeated the litany of name, rank and serial number again and again, and he called out a name. Something about the gentle sound of the single syllable and the way that he said it made Titi think it was the name of a woman. A goddess, perhaps? She had heard that the Americans embraced the lies of religion. They were backwards and ignorant, as well as evil. They did not understand that with the truth of Ho Chi Minh and the virtues of communism, they did not need false idols.

Yet the name of the Air Pirate's goddess haunted her dreams.

_MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM_

The prisoner was most unpopular. The necessity of carrying him slowed their progress far more than Khoi wanted, and everyone tired faster because of the extra strain. The third day of his illness, they covered less than ten miles, by the lieutenant's estimate, and were obliged to halt long before sunset. Titi was not entirely disenchanted with the change. She found it much easier to keep this new pace, and as she did not take a turn with the bier, she did not grow weary as quickly as the others. She knew that her English was improving, too, and she could scarcely wait for the day when she would be able to demonstrate her new skill to Bian.

There were many things she wished to tell Bian. Titi wondered how her older sister would receive the news that she, little Titi, had a lover. She was not sure how she would tell her sister. Indeed, she was not sure how Bian would react. She might be proud and happy, excited for Titi and delighted at the evidence that she was becoming a woman. She might be envious, as some of the girls of the village had been when Li Jiang had been wedded to the handsome young soldier last summer. Perhaps she would be scornful of Titi's love for Khoi—Bian had never shown the usual feminine interest in clothing, or appearance, or men.

Titi hoped her sister would be glad for her. Khoi made her most happy. When she was with him, it seemed as if all the world were her domain. She was not a weak little schoolteacher when they made love: she was a woman in the full flower of youth, strong and desirable and powerful, while at the same time vulnerable, delicate and lovely.

She liked growing up, she decided as she walked.

_MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM_

On the fourth day, the prisoner's fever was abating, but his appearance had grown more ghastly than ever. Titi watched his gray-hued face, contracting now and again as he was jostled on the rough paths. By the time they halted for the night, her concern had grown great enough for her to voice it to Thanh.

"Is he dying?" she asked, squatting near the other woman as Thanh dribbled water into the captive's mouth.

"Perhaps," Thanh said coolly. "Many Americans die. They are weak. They cannot bear the jungle heat, the hard roads, the injuries."

Titi looked at the man's scabbing, infected feet. "I would not want to travel without sandals," she said softly.

Thanh's eyes narrowed. "It is Major Quon's wish that he go barefooted," she said. "In any case, he is not walking now."

"But if he dies—" Titi began. Thanh cut her off with an abortive gesture.

"He will not die," she muttered. "He is too stubborn."

Thanh got to her feet and strode away from the haggard captive. Titi followed, anxious to understand. "How do you know that?" she asked.

Thanh turned towards her, and the eye buried beneath the globular masses of scar tissue glinted brightly. "The weak ones buckle under the pressure of interrogation," she said. "They break easily. They offer information in exchange for mending of their injuries. He begged you to fix his shoulder, but did he try to bargain with his knowledge?"

"No," Titi admitted.

"You see? He is stubborn. He will not give us what we want. He will give us as much trouble as he can. It would be easiest for him to die now, before he reaches Hanoi. It would be easiest for us if we could bury him in a shallow pit, instead of carrying him for days on end. He will not take the easy path: he will continue to live. Some people are like that. If the Americans captured Bian, she would do the same thing."

So saying, she made her way towards the fire that Cadeo was building. This time, Titi did not follow. She stood midway between her countrymen and the prisoner, staring at the Air Pirate's motionless form. Thanh's last words were haunting her. She did not want to think of Bian in American hands, beaten and mistreated as this captive was. She did not want to think of her proud, beloved sister with a broken collarbone, a bruised face, stumbling barefoot through strange lands, bound for a grim and inescapable prison…

But it was different, she tried to remind herself. The Air Pirate was not Bian. He was a criminal, a capitalist murderer who came from a land far across the sea. Bian was a brave and dedicated soldier, protecting her people and doing her best to spread the truth of Ho Chi Minh. Bian was her sister, courageous and honorable.

Titi wondered if the Air Pirate had a little sister, far away in America, who missed him. What if there was a young woman with pale white skin and curling hair who admired this man as Titi did Bian?

It was absurd, she decided. The Air Pirates did not have sisters, or wives, or cozy cottages that they called home. They were criminals: faceless, nameless and evil.

She turned away, trying not to heed the nagging, traitorous voice that wanted to remind her that _this_ Air Pirate had a face and a name, because if he was neither faceless nor nameless, then perhaps he was not evil either.

That could not be, for if he was not evil, then Major Quon, and Bian, and Thanh and Khoi were wrong to abuse him so. And they were not wrong. They could not be wrong.

Titi glared at the unconscious captive. "Stubborn," she cursed him under her breath. "Stubborn and wicked, accursed Air Pirate."

The words were correct, but they troubled her heart.


	13. Ownership

**December 23, 1966**

Titi giggled with pleasure as Khoi caressed her left breast, rolling the nipple gently between finger and thumb. The moon was still young, but it hung very low in the sky, illuminating their nocturnal pleasures in a soft, silver glow.

"Little, little," Khoi murmured. He moved in for a swift, aggressive kiss, one hand gripping the back of her head, and the other stroking her flank.

"How long do we have?" Titi breathed, quivering with pleasure.

"Not long enough," Khoi admitted ruefully, pulling back and edging towards their clothing. "You seem to endure the trail with more grace each day," he commented.

Titi flushed with pride. "I sleep better at night now," she explained, brushing seductively against him as she reached for her tunic. "Though not so long."

Khoi laughed and smacked her rump playfully "Beware the lewd virgin!" he chuckled.

"I am not a virgin any longer," Titi said. As she realized what had come out of her mouth, her face began to burn with discomfiture.

Khoi laughed at her. "No, you are not." He stood up, pausing to kiss the crown of her head as he did so. "And I am glad."

Titi donned her clothes swiftly, disappointed in spite of herself that their time together was over for another night. She had her feet in her sandals before Khoi was finished with his trousers, and it was she who led the way back to the encampment.

The others were fast asleep: Thanh was stretched out to her full length, the puckered scars of her right side casting strange shadows on her face and torso. Cadeo and Trieu were sleeping back-to-back. Diep had one hand curled around the barrel of his riffle. Titi looked towards the thicket near which the prisoner had been laid. In keeping with Thanh's predictions, he had shown no signs of dying. Neither, however, did he seem to be getting any stronger. He was now able to take small portions of food and water again, and sometimes Titi thought she saw him move upon the bier while he was being carried, but he did not look able to walk.

That was why Titi could not quite believe that he was not lying where he should be.

She cried out in alarm, running forward to the soiled blanket and bamboo poles. Khoi followed her, demanding in a terse whisper what was wrong.

"He is gone!" she exclaimed. "The Air Pirate is gone!"

Khoi cursed aloud, and then drew in a deep breath. "He could not crawl into the woods to relieve himself this morning," he said tersely. "He cannot have gone far."

"I will go east," Titi said. "And you—"

Khoi shook his head. "We might pass within ten feet, and we would not see him in the shadows. Te sun will rise in two hours. We will wait."

Titi stared at him in amazement. "But if he is running…"

He snorted in exasperation. "I tell you, he cannot run. He is hiding, hoping that we will be unable to find him. Hoping that we will give up the hunt. We will find him."

"We should wake Thanh," Titi ventured, shivering a little. Her sister would be so angry.

"Why?" Khoi spat. "There is nothing we can do until the sun rises."

Titi stared in bewilderment at the place where the prisoner should have been. How did he do it?

_MWMWMWMWMWMWM_

"How could he escape?" Thanh cried. "He could not walk!"

"Apparently he could," Khoi sniped. "Had you not unbound his hands—"

"He could not even lift his head!" she shouted in response. "He could not run. He must have had help."

"Help?" Khoi mocked. "We are miles from any village: how would a traitor find him?"

"You have not been careful to cover our tracks!" accused Thanh. "Anyone could have followed us!"

"Followed us to free an Air Pirate?" Titi breathed. "Why would anyone do such a thing?"

"There are evil men and fools everywhere," Thanh snapped, glaring pointedly at the lieutenant. "Where were you when you should have been watching the camp?"

Titi felt her stomach lurch with nausea, and she moved away from the arguing guerillas as quickly as she could without rousing suspicion. What would Thanh say when she learned who had lured Khoi away from his post?

"Never mind how it happened," Khoi snapped. "If he had help, he could be miles from here—"

"Because you did not wake us to begin a search at once!" shrieked Thanh. "If he escapes, it is your head I shall bring back to placate Major Quon!"

They divided into pairs: Thanh and Trieu to search back in the direction that they had come, and Khoi and Cadeo to scout ahead, in case the Air Pirate and his conspirators were headed for the sea. Titi and Diep were told to stay in the immediate area of the camp, radiating outwards slowly, searching for some concrete sign of tracks through the underbrush. They decided that they would cover more area if they each took a half-circle, and soon Titi was alone in the jungle.

She knew from listening to Bian what signs to seek. Bian was an expert tracker—one of Major Quon's best. She had described many times the tiny clues that you could find: bent branches, and leaves disturbed to cover footprints. Titi knew that a barefoot man was harder to track than a booted one, and that the branches at eye level could yield as much information as those near the ground. She thought, too, that where the Air Pirate went, he would likely leave a trail of blood, especially if Thanh was wrong, and he was trying to move on his own power.

Titi hoped that Bian was wrong. She had heard stories of traitors before: villagers who sold their own people to the Americans. They were untrue to Vietnam, betrayers of the cause of Ho Chi Minh. She knew that there were such people, but she hoped never to meet one. Nothing, Titi thought, could be more frightening than someone willing to turn against their own people. Even the Americans were not a threat if the people of Vietnam united. As long as there was division, there could not be trust. Titi did not wish to see treachery in familiar faces. She did not want to have to question the motives of her own folk. She hoped that the American had run away without aid.

A thought occurred to her. Perhaps he had left the camp to die.

Many animals did that. Wild dogs would leave their pack when they were about to expire, finding some private place to draw their last breaths. Titi knew that she would rather die alone in the underbrush, but free, than perish in captivity, lying on a filthy blanket in the camp of an enemy.

No. She had to stop this. Again, she was putting herself in the prisoner's place. She could not do that any longer. It led to evil thoughts. It made it difficult to do her duty. It had to stop.

She heard a sound. At first, Titi thought that it was a duck, calling to its mate on some unseen pond. Then it sounded again, muffled and rattling, and she realized that somewhere close by, someone was striving not to cough—and failing painfully.

Titi drew in a deep breath and held it, trying to listen. The stifled choking died away into a shallow wheeze, barely audible above the whispers of the jungle canopy. He was close. Very close. She looked around for anything that might conceal a man. There was a closely-knit hedge of melastoma shrubs to her left. It seemed the likeliest hiding place, certainly the one she would have chosen herself. She moved towards it warily. The Air Pirate had deceived them into thinking that he was too weak to walk. Titi was not foolish enough to approach him without caution.

She took her gun from her waistband, and in one swift motion swept aside the outer layer of leaves and berries, thrusting her right hand forward in a threatening gesture that proved purposeless. The American was not concealed by the branches.

Frowning, Titi turned. There was only one other place that he could be hiding that was near enough for such subtle sounds to be heard. She moved close to a clump of broad-fronded ferns and leveled the '45.

"_Come out,_" she ordered, enunciating clearly. "_Come out. Shoot you._"

She was met only by silence.

"_Come out. Shoot you_," Titi repeated. "_Now._"

"_So shoot me. Go ahead._" The voice was raspy and hoarse. It belonged to the Air Pirate.

"_You criminal,_" Titi said. "_You suffer_."

A hollow laugh was cut short by a wheeze of pain. _"You're damned right I suffer," _he said. "_I don't suppose if I told you to fuck off—"_

Titi couldn't follow the alien words. She raised her arm a little, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out through the jungle, and the ferns shuddered. There was a sharp cry of alarm, and then silence.

Titi waited, her heart hammering in her chest. The long, serrated leaves rustled, and one filthy, bloodied foot slid into view. A slender, well-muscled leg followed, pulling the Air Pirate's body after it. His arms were crossed over his chest, the left hand gripping the right elbow. He tried to glare at her with bold defiance as his face came into view, his head dragging along the ground, but the terrified anguish in his brown eyes was evident even to Titi.

"_You run,_" she said. "_Bad. Very bad._"

"_You're a good shot,_" he croaked. "_For a kid. How old are you, anyway?_"

"_Quiet_!" Titi ordered. "_You prisoner. You criminal. Come to Hanoi_."

"_Mind if I decline that kind invitation?_" he asked. "_ 'Cause I gotta tell you, I never was too…_" He stopped, coughing again. When the paroxysm passed, his whole body went limp, quivering subtly with exertion and pain.

Titi tucked her revolver back into its place and moved towards him. The prisoner screwed his eyes closed, and his jaw tightened visibly. She squatted next to him, and pressed two fingers to his cheekbone, turning his face towards him.

"_Why you run_?" she asked. "_You weak_."

He didn't answer her. He was still braced against the expected pain. Suddenly, Titi felt angry. Why did he not answer? Was he so afraid of her?

If he was afraid, then she would give him cause to fear her. She took hold of his left arm and, throwing he whole back into the motion, pulled. The Air Pirate's torso rose off the ground, drawn after his arm through the dislocated shoulder. He screamed, spittle flying from his mouth, and began to struggle instinctively. Titi struck out with her foot, and her toes bounced against his hip. There was a convulsive moan as he reigned in his voice, and then silence. The man's face contorted horribly under the filth and abrasions, but he made no further sound.

"_You stand_!" Titi ordered. "_You walk!_"

Somehow, he got his battered feet under him, and stood, bent like an old man and shaking violently. Titi released her hold on his arm. She took the rope instead, still affixed as it was to the iron collar that he wore, and drew out her gun again. She rammed the barrel against the small of his back.

"_You lie and you run_," she said. "_Very bad_."

He said nothing. Titi prodded him with the '45.

"_Walk!_" she commanded. "_Back to camp!_"

To her amazement, he obeyed, stumbling awkwardly over roots, and limping painfully where the ground was more even. As they stepped into the clearing, Titi heard the sharp _snap_ of an AK-47 being primed. Diep relaxed marginally when he saw who was herding the Air Pirate.

"You found him!" he said, and Titi realized that he was looking at her with a new respect.

"He could not run far," she said. "Go and fetch water. We will eat while we wait for the others."

As it turned out, they did not have to wait long, for moments after Diep disappeared into the underbrush, Thanh came running through it into the clearing. "Titi!" she cried, and then stopped, taking in the scene. "I heard your gun," she said. "You found him!"

She moved forward, raising a menacing hand to strike the Air Pirate. Titi moved between the guerilla and her victim, catching Thanh's arm midair.

"I captured him," she corrected, unprecedented confidence in her voice. "I did not 'find' him. I have captured him, and now he is my prisoner."

There was a strange fire in Thanh's eyes, and for a moment, Titi thought that she would be smitten where she stood for her defiance against an elder and one of superior rank. Then, the scarred young woman curled one half of her mouth.

"He is your prisoner now," she allowed. "See that he does not escape you, little one, for if he does, it is you who will be punished."

Titi nodded tersely. He would not run. He had fooled them once, feigning weakness so that he could slowly recoup his strength and attempt an escape. His one mistake had been running too soon, before he was strong enough to flee.

Titi would see to it that he did not deceive them again.


	14. Wisdom

**December 29, 1966**

The trees were different here. They seemed both taller and more narrow than those of the southern jungles. Some did not even have leaves, but flat green needles. The berries were more sour, and the ground more rocky, and Thanh attributed all of it to the higher altitude and the more northern climes.

Titi believed her. The air was thinner, so that the young schoolteacher found herself tiring more quickly. The nights were certainly growing colder. When dawn crept over their campsite, it would invariably reveal the Air Pirate—who was at times not even able to stay awake long enough to eat the evening meal—awake. He would be contorted into as compact a ball as his bound limbs, mangled collarbone, and bruised ribs allowed, his lips a livid purple and his whole body shaking desperately. Barefoot and barelegged, with only the ragged and filthy smock to cover him, Titi did not wonder that he was half-frozen, but she refused to allow herself to pity him.

She was terrified that he would escape again. She took precautions against it: his hands were always bound before him now, and at night she would lash his ankles together as well. Even when it became plain that the coarse hemp was rubbing both wrists and feet raw, Titi did not relent. She was determined that he would have no opportunity to flee.

This was not her only precaution. When not in her hand, the rope affixed to his collar was always knotted around a stout branch or slender trunk. Though he was allowed a gourd of water with his rice or bannock in the morning, another with the noon meal, and small mouthfuls when the party halted, Titi cut off his ration each day when the sun sank below thirty degrees. By sundown he would be panting like a dog, and after a night of thirst he would be crust-lipped and weak. He would have been a fool to run when already dehydrated, and Titi knew that he was cognizant of that fact.

Despite the severity of her preventative measures, Titi had implored Khoi to reset the man's shoulder again, and in the end her lover capitulated to her pleas. Titi was not certain that anything could be done for his collarbone, and she did not wish to seem too sympathetic a gaoler, and so she left that injury untouched. Still, unless his right arm was knocked or jostled the captive's pain seemed nearly tolerable, and instead of growing weaker each day, he now appeared to be adapting.

This surprised Thanh, and she said so.

"He has the heart of a tiger," she told Titi one evening, eying the American with guarded respect. He had found a coarse rock, and was again trying to debride his suppurating feet. The effort of drawing his bound hands clumsily back for each stroke brought tiny, involuntary whimpers as his collarbone rippled the bruised skin stretched over it, and when he scraped the stone over pus and lesions, he could not help flinching in agony, and yet he persisted.

Thanh's hand drifted up to rub the border on her chin, where the scar tissue met the smooth, tanned flesh. "I have seen many Air Pirates," she mused. "None like this one. He reminds me of Bian."

"Do not say that!" Titi snapped. Then she closed her eyes and composed herself. "He is nothing like Bian," she said. "He is a criminal and a murderer."

"Perhaps," Thanh mused, slowly running her tongue over her lips, from the rough tissue to the silky and back. "I would have liked to see him in uniform."

Titi stared at her in bewildered horror. Was Thanh, loyal soldier and guerilla of the Viet Cong, lusting after the body of the wicked, murderous and disobedient American?

Thanh saw her expression, and laughed. "Oh, Titi," she said fondly, tapping the younger girl's chin with one knuckle. "You are so young. So innocent."

Not so innocent, Titi had thought, her eyes seeking Khoi almost instinctively.

It had been three days since that conversation, and their little party was moving through cultivated lands. It was dangerous to move across the rice paddies, for they were easy to spy from the air, and if American reconnaissance saw them and realized what they were transporting, there would be trouble. Thanh, however, practical as ever and unwilling to make the crossings at night, had come up with a clever solution. With Titi's wooden comb, she had raked out the American's short, curling hair, and she had plastered it over his forehead and ears, as low as she could, with black mud. The mud had dried into a helmet of grime that from a distance could not be distinguished from his hair. With his skin filthy, weatherburned, and gray-hued, and Cam Lan's castoff smock to cover him, he looked almost like a native. Only the dense growth of hair on his face seemed out of place, for like all Americans he was hairier than the men of Vietnam. This, Thanh promised, would not be visible from above.

The rice fields here were enormous, much larger than any Titi had ever seen. Khoi explained that because so many people lived in this region, much more food needed to be produced here than in the remote recesses of the highlands.

Certainly there were many people. Today alone they passed by nineteen, more than Titi had seen in one day since leaving Ap Hiep. In the early morning, they had seen half a dozen women working with hoes and spades in a fallow field, their _non la_s tilted low to guard their eyes from the rising sun. Only the youngest, a pretty girl about Titi's age, but far more fair, looked up as they drew near. She stared in horror and curiosity at the Air Pirate, and as she looked at Titi, the young guerilla thought that she saw admiration in her eyes.

Next they had come across a crowd of children running up and down the berms. They shouted and laughed as they scared away the birds that circled the gravid fields, wings spread to catch the updrafts and beady eyes alight with greed. The children were all naked or nearly so, and their little brown feet were swift and sure on the uneven surface. Now and then one would take a corner too quickly, and tumble into the cold water, flattening the rushes that bordered the delicate rice shoots. This would prompt more laughter, loudest of all from the one who had fallen.

It did not take long for the children to notice the strangers, and soon the guerillas had a rearguard of eager young soldiers. They were well-behaved, and they did not presume to address the travelers, but Titi could hear them murmuring quietly amongst themselves, and she realized how much she missed her own little students. She wanted to speak to these young ones, and to listen to their naïve impressions of the strange scene, but she was conscious of her new position and the dignity that went with it, and she restrained herself.

Next they passed three boys, perhaps three years younger than Titi. Like the children, they came to the paddies because of the birds. They had long slings and smooth pebbles, and they were practicing their marksmanship. Seeing Khoi at the head of the procession, they called out, addressing him by his rank and saluting. The gesture was reciprocated crisply, and Titi expected that the encounter was over. As they passed the place where their dike and the one on which the young men stood met at a narrow angle, however, one of the youth raised his sling.

"American filth!" he hollered, his voice high and strong with vitriol. "Slime! Murderer!"

A stone whistled through the air, and before anyone could react, the Air Pirate toppled over the edge of the berm. Shocked, Titi let go of the lead rope before it could grow taut and strangle him. He landed amid the reeds with a wet splash, and sank placidly below the surface of the water.

Hastily, Thanh stripped off her riffle and shot pouch, thrusting them upon Cadeo as she barked at Trieu to relieve her of her pack. Kicking off her sandals, she slid down the bank of earth and into the murky water. It reached well above her knees, and Titi watched, numb with alarm and surprise, as the older girl waded towards the place where the prisoner had vanished. She reached under the water with both hands, and arched her back as she hauled the man out of the water. He was limp in her arms, and made no sign of consciousness as Thanh hoisted him upward. Khoi and Diep hooked him under each arm, and hauled him back onto the dike. Thanh reached for Titi's hand, and with her help clamored up, somewhat muddy and a little breathless.

The three boys were laughing, jeering at the American. Titi felt a surge of anger, but other concerns were more immediate. The water notwithstanding, a well-thrown stone from a long sling could kill a tiger.

"Is he breathing?" she asked, trying to draw closer to her prisoner. As the dike was only two and a half feet wide, this was not easy. Diep navigated carefully around her, so that they could change places.

Khoi nodded. "He is breathing," he said scornfully. He tapped a place on the side of the Air Pirate's head. Titi realized that it was already beginning to swell. The lieutenant chuckled. "They winged an alien bird," he commented. He got to his feet and called to the boys. "You will be fine warriors some day!"

Titi felt another hot flush of rage. They would be fine warriors because they had thrown a rock at a bound and unarmed man? But he was a criminal, she reminded herself.

The prisoner began to cough, a thick, wet cough. Foam appeared on his lips, and Titi seized the front of his smock, pulling him up into a sitting position to ease his breathing. Suddenly, with a hollow shriek of torment, he was awake, his bound hands clawing at her arm. Titi realized that she was putting pressure on the broken collarbone, and eased him back.

"_Stop!"_ she ordered sternly. With a quivering, tormented inhalation, the captive managed to silence himself. Presently, glazed brown eyes searched the blank sky, and a ghost of a smile twisted the man's bruised lips.

"_Fancy a swim?"_ he asked hoarsely.

Titi frowned in confusion, looking questioningly at Khoi. He shook his head and grabbed the prisoner's wrists. Titi took hold of his hips and helped him stand. He wobbled a little as they started out again, but managed to keep his feet.

The last person they passed, just before sunset, was an old man. He was seated on one of the planks of a post bridge, his gnarled feet swinging over the rice. His thin lips drew lovingly on a worn bone pipe, and he stared away into the distance with a deeply pensive expression on his wrinkled face. His beard was long and white and wispy.

He did not seem to notice them as the approached, and they might have passed right by on their way to the bluffs by the creek, but at that moment the Air Pirate succumbed to the effects of his fresh head wound. His legs shook, and he halted in his laborious gait, dropping to his knees. A spasm ripped through his body, and he leaned towards the left, over the edge of the dike. Then his eyes flitted across the rice field, and he curled back inwards. There was a sickening retching noise, and then a stink of bile as he vomited into his lap, bringing up acid, water, and what was left of his noon ration.

Khoi halted and clawed briefly at his forehead. "Take care of him," he snarled. "Or else kill him."

Thanh glared at him as she spoke to Titi. "You cannot kill him," she said firmly. "We will make camp among the trees. Take care of him and catch up to us there."

Titi stood still as the others made their way around her. Watching them move off, muttering maledictions against their tiresome burden as they went, she was filled with irrational shame. It was as if the prisoner's weakness and stupidity reflected poorly upon her. She slapped the Air Pirate across the back of the head. At the moment of contact, her anger was appeased, but it flooded rapidly back.

"_You stupid_," she told him. _"Stupid Air Pirate_."

There was a dogged exasperation beneath the misery in his voice. "_I told you, I'm not an Air Pirate,"_ he said hoarsely. _"My name is Albert Calavicci. My serial number is B-933-852. I was born 15 June, 1934. I'm a lieutenant. An officer in the United States…armed forces. I'm a prisoner of war, and I'm entitled to humane treatment under the—_"

With the nimbleness of a cat, Titi sprung around the man, crouching before him. She shook his iron collar violently.

"_You not prisoner of war!" _she shrieked, irrationally aggravated by this most recent repetition of one of the man's favorite phrases. "_You criminal! You bomb jungle, you kill children! You kill children!_"

He looked up at her suddenly, and there was something strange in his eyes. It was beyond the pain, the defiance and the obstinacy. It was a desperation that had nothing to do with his current situation. For a moment, Titi saw a man. Not an Air Pirate, or a criminal, or the image of the propaganda from Hanoi. A man. Just an ordinary person.

Then the American closed his eyes and sighed wearily.

"_You don't want to do this,"_ he whispered. _"You don't want to hurt me, but you have your orders. We both have our orders."_

Titi recognized that word. It was an interrogation word. The illusion was shattered, and she was able to grip reality once more. She was a soldier, and he was her prisoner. A criminal and a murderer._" Orders!_" she snapped. _"You tell me your orders! Where bomb? Give targets._"

He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. _"Calavicci_," he said flatly. "_Albert. Lieutenant. B-933-85—"_

She cut him off with a sharp slap that rang hollowly in the cool twilight air. _"You walk,"_ she said, wrinkling her nose involuntarily as she caught the stench of vomit. What a fool he was, to retch all over himself instead of onto the rice field. He deserved no mercy. He was as stupid as a pig. She picked up his leash and turned to walk away. If he would not walk she would drag him.

His voice called her back. "Wait!" he cried. Titi froze. He had addressed her in her own tongue. She turned to look at him. He was looking up at her again, eyes wide and watering with pain and nausea. He whispered his next words, his clumsy American tongue tripping over the syllables. "Water, Titi, please," he breathed.

A chill ran up Titi's back. The sound of her name coming from American lips was at once bizarre and terrifying. Suddenly she felt very open and vulnerable, as if the whole of the Air Pirate's country, with its bombs and its napalm and its wicked, feral hatred could see her, little Titi who had been a happy schoolteacher in a pretty village in the mountains—until this man had fallen from the sky and torn her away from her home, and changed the course of her destiny.

She was frightened and lonely and homesick, but none of those emotions were permitted. She had to be brave. She had to be strong.

In times of war, even women must fight.

Titi threw back her head and spat upon the prisoner. "_No orders, no water_," she said harshly. Then she twitched the rope, jerking him forward so that he had to thrust his bound hands against the sod to keep from falling. "_Now you walk_."

Slowly, excruciatingly, the man got onto his torn feet. He swayed a little, and then bit his lip, the corner of his mouth twisting spastically at the taste of acid that still lingered there. Resolutely, he resumed his awkward, limping gait.

As Titi turned, she caught a glimpse of the old man in her peripheral vision. She tried to ignore it, and quickened her pace. He had lowered his pipe into his lap, and he was watching her, his gaze steady and piercing…

And filled with an unspeakable sorrow.

_MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM_

She and Khoi made love that night, their passion made fierce and feral by his frustration and her confusion. When at last they fell back, spent, into the damp leaves, Titi had almost forgotten about the old man. She stared up at the black blanket of clouds, breathing in deep pants as Khoi stroked her possessively. It was a strange sky tonight. Directly above her, it was black and velvety. It reminded her of hair, of Me Dè's hair…

The thought of her mother, whom she could still not quite understand was not _really_ her mother, brought a lump into Titi's throat. She cuddled closer to Khoi, taking comfort in the feeling of his warm, slick body against hers. He began to kiss her forehead as only a lover might, and she could hear him making soft sounds of pleasure again. Consoled by his desire, Titi looked up at the sky again.

Suddenly she was on her feet, crying out in horror and pointing. There was a place midway between the horizon and the highest point of the arc of the sky where the blackness faded to a strange pink glow. It grew more intense as it neared the earth, as if the light of a great flame was reflecting off the clouds in the way that candlelight reflects off of the roof of a hut.

"Fire!" she cried. "There is fire! The Americans—"

Abruptly she realized that Khoi was laughing. His hand reached up to caress her leg, and he pulled her back down, into his lap. He kissed her, and then began to pleasure her gently with his hand, all the while chuckling softly.

"Titi, Titi," he murmured. "So excitable. That is the light of Hanoi. We are very near to the city. If the Air Pirate does not make more trouble, we will walk through the day tomorrow, camp on the outskirts for one night, and then report in after dawn."

Titi leaned into his fondling caress. So the journey was almost over.

This time, when they were finished, she truly had forgotten the old man.


End file.
